


The secret beyond silence

by ScriptaManent



Series: Voices in the woods [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (And they were roommates I guess), A Bit of Angst For the Flavour, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Curse Breaking, Fluff, Iwaizumi is too kind for his own good, M/M, Mostly European-type medieval fantasy, Oikawa is a Bard but he can't sing, Pining, Quests, Strangers to Lovers, This man has so much patience and still it’s not enough, learning to live together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptaManent/pseuds/ScriptaManent
Summary: Sirens are known for two things: their beauty, and the irresistible timber of their voice. No wonder why Oikawa ended up becoming a bard — it was in his blood, almost a path set in front of him for him to follow. The problem was, the last siren in his family dated back from at least five generations ago, and while Oikawa’s looks were undeniably appealing, the spell broke without failing every time he opened his mouth. Whenever he sang or spoke, most creatures weren’t able to stand the mere sound of his voice, and they all ended up running away.Whether it was a curse or a disease, Oikawa didn’t know, but he was more than determined to find a cure to his condition.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Voices in the woods [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928968
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	1. Oikawa's decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of my series but can be read independently without trouble! I hope you will like it as much as I liked writing it ♡
> 
> Thank you [ mk](https://twitter.com/lolmeurp) for being my beta for this event! This was written for the Haikyuu!! Big Bang and **[akiraxuu](https://twitter.com/akiraxuu) drew two absolutely wonderful pieces** (a [cover](https://twitter.com/akiraxuu/status/1365885291513274368) and one that takes place during chapter 2, which I linked there). Please check them out!

Oikawa’s grin shone as bright as the moon when the dryad stepped out of the woods. He patted the grass beside him in an invitation before he resumed playing the lyre. He had started to consider it his favourite instrument — the lute was too big and coarse for someone as delicate as him.

The nymph approached him carefully, gauging him, but he could tell from the look in her doe-like eyes that she already was under his charm. Every step she took was as gracious as a practiced choreography and as much as she was under the bard’s spell, Oikawa had fallen for her.

She sat down in front of him, her long brown legs carefully tucked under her, and stared at the man without blinking.

“Sing for me?” she asked in a voice reminiscent of wind blowing through foliage.

She even smelt of the forest: grass and moss and berries.

Oikawa’s smile thinned, slipping for a fraction of second before he composed himself again and shook his head. He looked at the nymph from under his lashes; he knew it was his best profile, just the right angle for the moonlight to highlight his cheekbones and give a glow to his irises.

The nymph tilted her head to one side, curious. She seemed to forget her request when he played new notes on his instrument, and she leant forward to brush the flower the bard had tucked in his own hair.

“This is one of mine,” she declared almost dreamily.

Jasmine. Her name must have been something close to the plant, then. It suited her, Oikawa mused, even though he would probably have thought the same of any other name.

She snuck closer to him, until she could rest her head on his shoulder — she was so lean and tall that there was no way for it not to be uncomfortable, but Oikawa only glanced at her with a soft smile. He could barely recall the last time someone had touched him, save for Kuroo’s hand smacking his back.

Her warmth seeped into his light clothes and he found himself leaning into the touch.

“Sing for me,” the dryad repeated, nudging the bard’s jaw with her nose.

He let out a laugh and she tensed up.

 _Fuck_.

He played a few more notes under the tree nymph’s wary gaze, doing his best to keep his smile on check.

“Say something?” she said, and Oikawa wasn’t sure whether it was a request, a question or a demand.

He grinned awkwardly, shaking his head once more. She frowned, her lips pressing into a pout.

“Are you under some sort of spell?” the nymph asked again. “Can I do anything to help?”

The bard blinked in surprise. It was rare for anyone to be this kind, and he hated that their blooming relationship was so fragile, so prone to break just because of a tiny mistake from his side.

He shrugged vaguely, his lips a mere sheepish line, and she settled back in her original position, wrapping herself around him like ivy around an oak.

Oikawa inhaled her intoxicating perfume and played something new. A ballad he had composed himself, an ode to nature similar to the songs that sailors sang about the sea.

He hummed, for it was the most he could do, and the dryad melted against him.

They sat there for a long time. Above them, the moon drew a circle in the sky, until dark clouds passed over and the silver orb disappeared from sight.

The nymph shivered and gazed at Oikawa, unfolding like a sunflower at noon. She towered over him and he had no choice but to dive into these black eyes of hers, so beautiful, enchanting.

“I really want to kiss you,” she said.

“Please, do,” the bard whispered, brushing her cheek in a tender gesture.

He hadn’t finished the first word that the nymph had already jumped out of reach. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth open like she was too shocked to scream. And then she did. It sounded like dead trees falling in the forest, a loud and dry rumble.

“Wait!” Oikawa shouted, but his voice could only fail him.

The nymph ran away into the woods, half-insulting him, half-crying. All that she left behind her was a withered branch of jasmine, brown and rotten. The perfect representation of the way Oikawa felt inside.

* * *

Shame stung his eyes more than tears did. It always took the same path, no matter how hard he tried. He had been lucky that the nymph had stayed for so long by his side.

So far, only one person had never been affected by Oikawa’s condition — his curse, as he had come to call it — but Kuroo wasn’t someone the bard would ever have tried to woo. Besides, since the rogue had found a boyfriend in the heir prince of Edo, he barely had any time left for his friend.

Oikawa kicked a pebble out of his path and nearly tripped over a tree root on his way back to Nekoma village. Stupid root, stupid tree, stupid people and stupid siren blood.

He didn’t even know where his curse came from. Sirens were supposed to attract people with their good looks and lure them with their voices. Oikawa’s voice, on the other hand, had the exact opposite effect. Whether he spoke or sang, as soon as he opened his mouth, the spell shattered and all hell broke loose.

Maybe it was because his special blood was so diluted… From what he had been told, the last siren in his family dated back from five generations ago, on her mother’s side, but all that his mother and sister had inherited were the good effects of the magical legacy. Oikawa was the only one who had grown lonely. It could be because he was a man, but he doubted it. His guess was that some God had decided to prank him at birth.

“ _Oh, little one, you’ll grow up to be handsome and you will go far in life, but people will never get close enough to you to get to love you.”_

Something like that.

He clicked his tongue, his brows so tightly furrowed that they looked like a straight V on his forehead. It wasn’t fair.

Oikawa was so wrapped up in his dark thoughts that he realised he had taken the path to Kuroo’s only when he was faced with a familiar wooden door. There was a faint light flickering behind the window, so the bard decided he had nothing to lose and knocked.

He knocked once, twice without getting a response, and ended up banging on the door with his bare fists.

“Kuroo, open the damn door! I know you’re in there! I don’t care that you’re busy with your prince, I need your services!” he shouted.

He didn’t care that he was going to wake up the neighbours — well, in such a remote place it was highly unlikely — and he for sure wasn’t going to wake Kuroo up. The guy was a rogue, night was when he worked his stealthy art.

As soon as he had pronounced the last words, the door opened on a dark-haired man with the most infuriating smirk across his face. The rogue leant against the doorframe, blocking Oikawa’s access to the inside, and studied the bard with a smug expression.

“What brings a bard to my door in the middle of the night? Are you gonna sing me a lullaby?”

The other glared at the rogue.

“I’m sick of this all—“

“Well, so are we,” Kuroo cut in, his smile never leaving his face.

There was only tease in his tone. Kuroo was the closest thing to a friend Oikawa had ever had; making fun of the bard was one of Kuroo’s favourite hobbies.

“You know everyone around,” Oikawa continued without faltering, his feet anchored into the ground and his eyes staring straight into Kuroo’s. “There has to be someone able to help me with my voice. I want you to guide me.”

Behind Kuroo, the candle moved aside and Oikawa caught a glimpse of Kenma peering at him, one eyebrow raised. The mage wasn’t like his boyfriend. Like most people, he couldn’t stand the sound of Oikawa’s voice — he only tolerated it because he had nowhere to run off to — but he still approached, making sure to keep the rogue’s body between Oikawa and him.

He looked up at Kuroo, waiting for his answer, and Kuroo only stared at Oikawa, pondering. All amusement had left his face, replaced by the serious expression he had whenever he was talking tough business or worrying for someone.

“I don’t think magic can solve this,” the prince of Edo declared before Kuroo could turn to him. “The issue runs deeper. It’s in your blood.”

The way he said it, unwavering, his voice kept low, made Oikawa’s whole body shiver. He usually avoided being confronted by Kozume Kenma. The mage wasn’t someone who put other people at ease, and there was something about him that Oikawa found deeply unsettling.

Nonetheless, the mage was right, and Oikawa only let out an exasperated sigh.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he groaned, biting back a satisfied smirk when Kenma winced at the sound of his voice.

“Besides, Kenma’s not that great of a mage,” Kuroo continued as if nothing had happened.

He ignored the glare Kenma sent him — he was right, after all, Kenma couldn’t deny it.

The rogue took another long look at his late-night guest and retreated back into his house, leaving the door open for Oikawa to follow him in.

Kenma quickly settled onto the bed, as far from Oikawa as he could. He sat cross-legged on top of the blanket and wrapped himself in the rogue’s cloak, leaving only his face out of the fabric. He watched Oikawa’s every move with full attention, gauging him, and it took all of the bard’s will not to call him out on it.

Meanwhile, Kuroo browsed through his grimoires. He took one out of a shelf, opened it to a precise page, and immediately put it back in place. Then, he grabbed a map from a drawer and unrolled it on the table in front of Oikawa.

It was a map of their region. “Edo” was scribbled on the bottom left corner with an arrow pointing to the general direction of the capital. In the middle of the map stood Nekoma village, its main place represented by a fountain. It was circled by Seijoh forest, spreading wide around it. A chest represented what Oikawa knew was the dragon Saeko’s cavern, but it was about everything he could recognize. So far he had only taken the main roads out, looking for new tales to learn and new people to meet, but he had never really wandered off the safe paths.

“I think I’ve heard of someone,” Kuroo prompted, pointing at an empty point on the parchment. It was located in the heart of the forest, farther in than Oikawa had ever been. “There should be a druid living around there. From what I’ve been told, he rarely turns anyone down. You could go find him and try your luck. You’ve got nothing to lose, have you?”

Oikawa lifted his gaze to meet the rogue’s golden eyes. He blinked once, grabbed the map, and flipped a coin to the rogue.

He was right, after all, Oikawa had nothing to lose.

Or his dignity, perhaps, but he wasn’t yet aware of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments as you read to make a writer's day ♡ (They're the best kind of compliments, really!)


	2. A silhouette in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is what [akiraxuu's second pic](https://twitter.com/akiraxuu/status/1365886236125138945) refers to!

Iwaizumi wiped the sweat off his forehead as his latest visitor left, a thankful smile — and maybe a light pink shade — on his face. He gave him a satisfied grin back and focused again on the task at hand.

For a druid, whose whole existence was supposed to revolve around nature, Iwaizumi really had neglected his garden in the past days. His mint plants were a sorry sight, the valerian was a depressing brown, and both plantain and nettles had gone on a quest to conquer his land. Only the Saint John’s wort seemed to behave, but Iwaizumi figured it wouldn’t last long.

“Your garden is a mess,” a familiar voice rose out of nowhere, startling the druid.

Iwaizumi turned around, only to find a pair of dark brown eyes looking down at him.

He straightened up immediately and quickly brushed the dirt off his hands, realizing only too late that mud stained his trousers.

“Oh, Kita, you’re back from town,” Iwaizumi stated as a greeting.

The other had always looked much more like a druid than Iwaizumi, but on that particular day it was striking. From his white robes to his brown cape, Kita was the archetype of the profession. A wreath of sage crowned his head, dark green and silver, and even though his face was unreadable most of the time, there was a glimmer of ruse that never left his eyes. Neither Iwaizumi nor he really believed in Gods — they relied on the sheer power of nature rather than on other entities — but if Iwaizumi had, he would have been certain that Kita had been blessed at birth.

There was something unnatural about the way he revered plants and communicated with foxes. Kita remained quiet and composed most of the time, and compared to the other druids his age, he was on another level.

Even though Kita had never shown any sign of feeling superior to his colleagues, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but admire him. He could have become a royal advisor, had he wanted to. Instead, Kita had decided to become a new kind of druid, both working in his own private garden and trading with merchants and sailors. His more loyal customer happened to be a renowned chef settled in a village far down south, whose twin had gone for the knight order, and so Kita kept visiting him every month or so. He refused to give up on the patch of land he owned in the most remote place of Seijoh forest, though, claiming that he had been born on this ground and knew all of its secrets.

But that also meant that Iwaizumi was the only druid around to take care of every person needing his services, and his days were far busier than they should. And, _Gods_ , Iwaizumi had real skills when it came to drawing powers out of plants and using them, but growing them? He could have used some serious help.

“I had to extend my stay a bit but I got to get some new seeds from overseas,” Kita said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Atsumu says hello, by the way.”

Iwaizumi blinked, staring at the other for a solid two minutes. He could have sworn that there was tease in his expression, and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it.

Of course, Iwaizumi was used to being flirted with — he had dozens and dozens of people coming to him every day, some of them he suspected not even needing his services — but so far Miya Atsumu had been the most persistent one. And probably the one Iwaizumi had told off the most to that day.

Even though Iwaizumi did genuinely enjoy his company — Atsumu was a very entertaining paladin, and he would also have made a formidable bard, to be honest — he had never responded to his advances, but that didn’t keep Atsumu from trying his luck again every time he saw Iwaizumi. The druid was pretty sure it was just a game, though, so he didn’t think too much about it.

Night was falling when Kita left Iwaizumi to his own company, but thanks to him, the garden was already in better shape. Three more people had showed up, one of them clearly hitting on the dark-haired druid, much to Kita’s quiet amusement, but overall it had been a nice and productive day. The other druid had even given him plants from the continent to grow, even though Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he’d manage to keep them alive. He was satisfied with the ones he was familiar with, they pretty much covered everything he needed them to.

His brown trousers stained with mud and his white shirt stained with grass, Iwaizumi took one last look at the protective runes on his fence. Once he was sure that everything was in place, he went inside his cabin and headed straight to bed. The next day promised to be rainy, so he would probably not get as many visitors and he’d finally be able to work on his brewages, ointments and other commissions.

It was in the middle of the night that the druid was jolted awake by the faint noise of footsteps in his yard.

He frowned in the dark, focusing on the sound. Nobody should have been able to enter his property. Either he had missed a damaged rune, or there were quite knowledgeable brigands roaming around.

Either way, he wasn’t going to let people in so easily. He may be a druid, Iwaizumi had the mind of a paladin, and the rogue who would take something from him wasn’t born yet. Living in the middle of the forest didn’t make him more of an easy target, and many unfortunate souls had learnt it the hard way.

When Iwaizumi was sure that it wasn’t just some sounder of wild boars destroying all the efforts Kita and he had put in his patch of land, he jumped to his feet and grabbed the oak stick that he always kept in his bedroom — he didn’t need a sharper weapon. He didn’t even bother to grab a shirt. After all, a few millimeters of cotton wouldn’t stop a knife more effectively than his skin, and he didn’t have time to waste.

Iwaizumi climbed down the stairs to the main room of his cabin and approached the nearest window. The fog was thick outside, but he could still make out movement. There was only one person, from what he could tell, and no familiars to back them up, which could only mean two things: it was either a very skilled rogue, or a very starved person only looking for a loaf of bread.

From the noise the stranger made with each step, Iwaizumi opted for the second option. The other one was just about to knock on the door when the druid opened it wide. The chill air from the outside entered the room, but it wasn’t as worrying as the bard that stood there, pale and shivering, about two seconds from passing out.

“’m looking for Iwa—“ he started in a weak voice. He collapsed on the floor as he tripped over the front porch, too abruptly for Iwaizumi to catch him.

* * *

He looked good, Iwaizumi realised — in all objectivity — as he dropped the passed out stranger on the guest bed upstairs. An instrument made a terrible noise and Iwaizumi grimaced as he got a lyre from under the man. Fortunately, it wasn’t damaged.

Maybe it would have been wiser to leave the stranger downstairs, in case he’d wake up without Iwaizumi noticing and ended up tumbling down the stairs, but now that the druid had carried him all the way, there was no point in thinking about it. Besides, he was tired, and even though the other man wasn’t very heavy, all that Iwaizumi wanted was to close his eyes and dive into slumber.

But he wouldn’t, he knew he wouldn’t, not when there was someone who needed his help in his house. The druid would end up watching him and making sure he was alright.

The first good sign was that there was no blood on him, and no visible wound. His clothes were neat and clean — as clean as a traveler’s could be — and he didn’t seem as poor as Iwaizumi had first thought, judging by the items he carried with him. The druid had found a pouch on the man, containing coins, a finely carved dagger, a map, and parchments and cut feathers — all things that proved he was at least some kind of wealthy.

He added the lyre to the rest of the stranger’s belongings, all gathered in the chest at the foot of the bed, and went back to sit on the wooden stool beside. Iwaizumi’s breath was calm, almost deep as he stared at the man, imagining for him the life that had brought him to the druid. In the forest, a wolf howled, soon joined by his pack, and Iwaizumi’s thoughts drifted away, following the rolling waves of the animals’ voices.

Iwaizumu realised he had fallen asleep only when the man stirred on the bed. Immediately, the druid straightened up, blinking slumber away, and stifled a yawn as his sight zeroed in on the stranger. His skin was still pale in the weak light of dawn, but otherwise he seemed to be fine. Only dark circles under his eyes betrayed the exhaustion from the past night.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Iwaizumi said, his voice still hoarse.

He cleared his throat and the stranger twisted on the straw mattress to get a better look at his host. He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it tight before a word slipped out of his lips, and Iwaizumi’s brows furrowed slightly.

“How do you feel?” the druid insisted.

The druid stood up, clenching his teeth as his sore muscles made themselves known — he must really have slept in a weird position, judging by the way his back hurt and by the tingling in his arm when blood flowed back into his veins. Again, the man in the bed didn’t speak. He flashed Iwaizumi a bright smile and cleared his throat, pointing at it with the delicate hand of a musician.

“I’ll bring you water,” the druid declared with a nod, studying the stranger with caution.

The other offered him another smile, this one grateful, and Iwaizumi let out a sigh. This promised to be a long day.

“You know, we’d have a much easier time if you just told me why you crashed here in the middle of the night,” he prompted when he was back, handing a cup to the other. “I know you can speak, you said something right before you passed out.”

For a split second, the mask of friendliness slipped from the other’s face and he stared agape at Iwaizumi. A flash of panic crossed the rich brown eyes that had only been glowing warm so far. When Iwaizumi blinked again, the other was smiling sheepishly, but his shoulders were tenser than they had been a few seconds ago.

He took his attention off the druid as if nothing had happened and looked around, searching for something on the shelves. When he couldn’t find it, he turned back to Iwaizumi expectantly. The latter pointed at the chest in the room.

“I put everything you had on you in there, including your instrument.”

The stranger’s lips gathered into a crooked pout and he shook his head, eyes closed and brown curls floating around with every move. Iwaizumi swallowed his growing frustration.

There was something about that guy that was beginning to play with his nerves. He was usually someone kind and patient with his visitors, but the fact that the stranger refused to speak put Iwaizumi on edge. Nothing good ever came out of a lack of communication, even less when it was curse-induced, and Iwaizumi was already having a bad feeling about the man’s case.

“What do you need, then?” he nevertheless asked, because after all, the other had come to him for help.

The stranger mimed writing something and Iwaizumi exhaled a weary breath.

“Alright, I’ll give you a paper, ink, and a feather, but you’ll have to answer all of my questions.”

The other squinted slightly in a distrustful manner that drew a smug grin on Iwaizumi’s face. Eventually, the mute one nodded. He pulled the stool Iwaizumi had sat on closer, so that he could use it as a support, and the druid found himself forced to sit on the edge of the bed.

The stranger started scribbling something before Iwaizumi asked his first question. He moved the stool aside once more, so that it fitted between the two of them, and moved his hand so that the druid could read.

_ > “My name is Oikawa Tooru. I come from Nekoma village, at the border of the forest.” _

Iwaizumi nodded.

“Oikawa, then. And what bri—” he started, but was immediately interrupted by the other adding two more words to his notes.

_ > “And you?” _

It took a few seconds for Iwaizumi to swallow back the surprise that washed over him, and Oikawa arched an amused eyebrow at the face he made. The druid pretended he couldn’t feel the blush that heated up his cheeks when he realised he hadn’t properly introduced himself.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he eventually said, and there was no explanation to the fierce grin that bloomed on the other’s lips. “I’m a druid. I suppose you’ve been looking for me, so what brings you here?” he continued when Oikawa nodded seriously.

The feather slided on the parchment as the stranger wrote his story. He was a bard, and Iwaizumi expected him to write lines and lines about his situation, to tell his story as an epic tale, but Oikawa kept it brief and to the point.

 _”Since I was a child, people have been running away from me as soon as they hear the sound of my voice. Some even burst into tears_ , _”_ Iwaizumi read out loud. Oikawa let out a sad laugh but nothing showed on his face when the druid flicked him a look. _“I think it’s related to my siren blood, even though it dates back from five generations. Do you think you can help me?”_

Iwaizumi leaned back on the bed, a sigh escaping his lips as he assimilated the information.

“That doesn’t make sense. If you’re from siren heritage, your voice isn’t supposed to repel people,” the druid thought out loud.

In front of him, Oikawa hid nothing of his irritation. He glared at the druid, the kind of looks that said “ _You think I don’t know this already?_ ”

“Say something,” Iwaizumi ordered, and immediately the bard backed off, shaking his head and frowning like Iwaizumi was the maddest man he had ever met. “Say something,” he insisted nonetheless. “This is my house, I’m not gonna run away.”

And still, Oikawa gave him a wary look. He eyed the door and the window, as if considering which one would be safer to block, and Iwaizumi’s patience slowly began to slip out of him.

“Oikawa, I don’t have all day, so say something or feel free to leave.”

The bard twitched, a pained and alarmed expression flashing on his face for a fraction of a second only, but it was enough for Iwaizumi to catch it. The druid bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant his tone to be that dry, but he was exhausted and he didn’t like the fact he couldn’t understand the case.

Oikawa cleared his throat. He averted his gaze, his fists clenched tight and his shoulders tensed in a way that reminded the druid of a cornered animal.

“Please, I really need your help.” 

The bard hadn’t pronounced the first word that all the air was knocked out of Iwaizumi’s lungs.

He didn’t hear what Oikawa said. He couldn’t hear it.

Visions of barren lands flashed before his eyes, scorched earth and ravaged soils where nothing would ever be able to grow again. He saw his own garden, blackened plants and sterile ground, all reduced to bare rock. He saw his life ruined before his eyes, and he only realised he was panting when a hand hesitantly landed on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open and a bark brown gaze filled his line of sight, shining with worry and something that looked like disgust.

Iwaizumi instinctively put more distance between them and Oikawa’s hand fell to the mattress. He reached for his paper, a shaky hand hovering over the feather, but this time Iwaizumi stopped his movement.

“Sorry, it’s just—” he faltered, inhaling sharply before looking back at Oikawa, locking eyes with him.

He squeezed the other’s wrist and Oikawa brought his hand back onto his laps.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be this powerful.” His voice trembled but Iwaizumi went on, refusing to show how affected he still was. “I’m gonna get some things that may temper it down. It won’t cure you, I’ll need some more time. A lot of time, actually,” he added with honesty in front of the bard’s devastated look, “but I’ll try to help you as much as I can.”

Slowly, Oikawa nodded, a frown never leaving his forehead. He looked everywhere but at the druid, and Iwaizumi stood up with one last exhale that managed to calm himself down.

As soon as he moved away, Oikawa took in an alarmed breath. He grabbed Iwaizumi’s arm, his eyes begging for mercy and forgiveness.

Iwaizumi frowned, frozen for one second.

“Oikawa, I’ll be back. I’m only bringing some stuff up here so that we can have an actual conversation without me risking throwing myself out of the window.”

Still, the bard refused to let go of him, that panicked light still flashing in his eyes like Iwaizumi was the only thing keeping him alive and he couldn’t risk him running away. It was probably close to the truth, judging by the way the other acted. Iwaizumi lived alone, but he couldn’t imagine how lonely such a life had been. At least, he had Kita and his customers, and even Kyoutani when the druid occasionally came to challenge him.

Due to his condition, Oikawa could probably count the conversations he had had in his life on one hand…

Iwaizumi let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, come with me, I’ll show you around. You can keep this room, by the way. For the months to come, I’ll take you as my assistant. Is that okay with you?”

He had never seen such a grateful look on someone before, and still, he couldn’t ignore the haunting light dancing in the depth of Oikawa’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the common consensus is Iwaizumi as a knight (because of FHQ and for obvious reasons) but for once I wanted to explore the caring and reliable side of him without giving him a sword. I think he makes a pretty awesome druid ♡
> 
> Also please, give my artist some love because their art really is _out of this world_ and I'm still not over it!


	3. Words, a double-edge sword

Oikawa reluctantly let go of his host’s wrist, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Iwaizumi was going to run away from him the first chance he’d get. The way he had agreed to help him brought back the echo of that nymph’s voice to the bard’s mind.

“ _ Say something, _ ” she had said, exactly like the druid had a few minutes ago, both of them unaware of the catastrophic consequences of their request. “ _ Are you under some sort of spell? Can I do anything to help? _ ” Jasmine had asked in such a kind voice that Oikawa had felt himself melting at the sound.

And for one second, just one second he had lost control. Words had slipped out of his mouth, and then everything had gone to hell.

He couldn’t help but wonder how long Iwaizumi would last before he kicked Oikawa out — or how long he would last before disappearing into the forest, never to be heard of again.

And yet, to his surprise, the druid stopped at the door and turned around.

“Are you coming or not? I don’t have all day, you know.”

His voice was harsh, but a light joy bubbled in Oikawa’s stomach as he got to his feet and followed the other out of the guest room.

For once, he was welcome somewhere, and Oikawa wasn’t close to letting go of the opportunity.

The bedroom opened on a narrow corridor, and it was only when he saw the stairs that Oikawa realised that they were at the first floor or the druid’s cabin. His eyes widened, and he stared at Iwaizumi, motioning to get his attention.

“... and this is my room. There’s a room with water downstairs. I don’t want to be rude but you should really use it...” he trailed off, frowning at the way Oikawa’s hands flew in the air. “What?”

The bard rolled his eyes, not even bothering to be offended by the other’s remark — he really did need to wash — and pointed once more at the stairs, then at Iwaizumi, at himself, and eventually at the room they had just left.

Iwaizumi’s frown deepened so much Oikawa wondered how the man didn’t already have wrinkles.

“Again?” the druid asked, and Oikawa repeated the same movements, irritation making his gesticulations rougher.

Nonetheless, the bard was glad that Iwaizumi was genuinely trying to understand what he wanted to say.

“You’re… asking me if I carried you all the way up here?” the druid hazarded, and his guest nodded fervently. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to leave you passed out in the entrance,” Iwaizumi continued in a tone that meant it should have been obvious.

Oikawa moved his hand again, a finger pointing at Iwaizumi.

“Yes, me. Have you heard anybody else in here?” the druid said, his thinning patience making his voice rougher and causing the other to place his hands defensively in front of him.

Oikawa eyed the second door on his way to the ground floor. He noticed a pattern carved directly into the wood, but he could only catch a glimpse of it as he followed his host around.

The other floor was basically one big room, spacious and pretty spartan. In the middle stood a round table in massive oak. There were three stools under it, seemingly stable, and a few metal cups similar to the one Iwaizumi had brought him rested empty among plants on the table.

At the opposite side of the room, flames burnt gently in the fireplace where a cauldron hung from a bar. Oikawa didn’t have time to inspect the rest of the furniture because Iwaizumi required his attention.

“The door closest to the stairs leads to the washroom. There’s a basin that collects rainwater near the window, so feel free to use it. The other door is my workroom but you’re not allowed in there for now,” he warned, his gaze on Oikawa grave, as if he was talking to a child.

“ _ I can’t speak, I’m not stupid _ ,” the other mused, his lips pressing into a pout.

“You can use the round table but leave the other free, it’s where I usually cook or prepare medicines that require heat. And if you use up all of the water barrel over there, you’ll have to fill it back up.”

Oikawa nodded. He crouched down to brush the sheepskin spread close to the fireplace. Rows of bookshelves covered the wall there, within arm reach, full of books and grimoire and potted plants that had probably known better days.

“Do you wanna see something cool?” Iwaizumi asked, and the bard sent him a curious look.

He didn’t know whether it was the almost secretive whisper or the excitement that charmed him, but the Iwaizumi that stood in front of him at that exact moment was nothing like the one who had offered to help him.

That Iwaizumi was a professional. It was the druid people went to in hope he would help them solve their problems. The Iwaizumi that looked at Oikawa at that exact moment had nothing of the exhaustion the other bore like a mask. His eyes were shining playfully, like the ones of a child excited to show someone their favourite toy. There was a smile playing at the corner of his lips, and Oikawa found himself leaning closer.

“I think it’s better if I show them to you now,” the druid continued, crouching down to Oikawa’s level.

He brushed the dirt off a hatch carved out of the clay floor in the fireplace, unbothered by the flames licking the ashes less than a palm away from his hand.

The bard crawled closer and Iwaizumi flicked him a look that made Oikawa’s heart stutter.

The druid moved his hands aside, revealing a hole in the ground, and Oikawa gasped at the sight of what was hidden inside.

Six pairs of beady eyes looked up at him and he glanced at Iwaizumi at his side. The druid was grinning, his cheeks coloured a light pink by the pride and the fire.

Oikawa’s attention drifted back to the salamanders living their life near the fire, black and orange and unbothered. He had always been convinced that amphibians needed water.

“They’re a volcanic species, if you’re wondering,” the druid explained with a passion that only called to listen. “These salamanders live in the mud near volcanoes, and the substance they secrete can be used to cure burns. Kita — he’s a druid too, you might meet him if you stay long enough — got me some a few years ago. Oh, and don’t worry about their well-being, there’s a tunnel over there for them to go out if they want to, and a pond not too far. They usually stay inside because it’s warmer, though. So, pretty cool, aren’t they?”

Iwaizumi’s grin was bright and so genuine that it took a moment for his words to reach Oikawa’s mind. The bard blinked a few times, breaking the spell, and nodded slowly.

“Alright, let’s leave them alone, n—” the druid continued, only to be interrupted by a loud growl coming from Oikawa’s stomach.

The latter froze, his face turning a deep shade of red, and Iwaizumi laughed — he laughed, and Oikawa stopped breathing at the sound of his voice. He was the siren-blood, but the druid was the one working a spell on him.

No, the rational voice in the back of Oikawa’s mind brought him back to reality. He was starving and sleep-deprived, of course he’d be dizzy. Iwaizumi would probably be less attractive after a good week of rest.

His eyes lingered one more second on the druid’s arms as he covered the hatch again and held his hand out to help Oikawa to his feet.

Well. That was a fight Oikawa couldn’t win.

Time passed in silence as Iwaizumi worked on feeding the both of them. He placed a jar of honey and an infusion that smelt terrible in front of the bard, ordering him to drink it all while he cooked, and the other had no choice but to obey.

He took one sip and grimaced, but Iwaizumi paid him no attention. Another one, and he whined, but the druid didn’t even glance at him. Thus, Oikawa proceeded to drink the entirety of the abomination. As soon as he was done, he took a spoonful of honey and let it melt in his mouth to ease his traumatised taste buds while he tried to glare a hole through his torturer’s back.

Sure, he wanted to be able to hold a normal conversation with people, and this was supposed to help, but it tasted  _ awful _ .

And then… And then, it got worse, because his host placed a plate in front of him and even though it looked like the most perfect meal Oikawa had ever seen, the main ingredient was mushrooms.

He looked up from the plate to his host’s face, slowly, and Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow as he sat down in front of him.

“What is it?”

Oikawa frowned, poking at the mushroom with a wooden spoon.

“You can try to speak, by the way, the infusion should lessen the effect of your voice,” the druid announced.

He placed his hands flat on the table, bracing himself as if waiting for a punch.

“Why did you have to make mushrooms?” the bard grumbled, the tone of his voice softened by his apprehension of the other’s reaction.

Iwaizumi flinched, his hands clenching, but when he looked Oikawa in the eyes there was a challenging light sparkling in his green gaze.

“You’ll have to get used to it.”

“You don’t even have meat? Do you want me to go hunt something?”

The bard sounded offended. There was a short pause before the other spoke again, and in front of him, Iwaizumi tensed, his stare turning into a dark glare.

“I’m a druid. I communicate with animals, don’t expect me to eat them.”

“But  _ mushrooms _ , Iwa-chan! There’s nothing worse than that!”

“I won’t take any criticism about my eating habits from you. Full offense, but your ancestors were basically singing half-chickens— wait, what did you call me?”

Iwaizumi scowled, the sudden nickname echoing in his mind. His expression switched from offense to confusion at the hurt look Oikawa gave him. The bard brought his elbows closer to his chest and swallowed a spoonful of mushrooms in silence.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi called. He sounded worried.

The other blinked up, answering him with a questioning look.

Iwaizumi’s mouth opened and closed several times, his frown deepening as words didn’t manage to go past his lips. He didn’t understand why the atmosphere had changed so suddenly, why Oikawa had closed off in the blink of an eye.

The druid replayed the conversation in his mind, searching for the misstep, doing his best to pinpoint the moment Oikawa had reacted weirdly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to insult you,” he tried hesitantly.

Oikawa let a lazy smile settle on his lips, joyless, painful to look at.

“No, you’re right, Iwa-chan. My ancestors were singing half-chickens.”

He laughed, but even to him it sounded bitter.

Iwaizumi didn’t call him out on the nickname again.


	4. Daily routine

The more time they spent together, the more Oikawa felt himself at home. After two weeks with the druid, his insecurities about his voice were already lessening. It wasn’t that his voice had miraculously stopped scaring people off, but the infusion that Iwaizumi made him limited the damages, and progressively Oikawa found himself speaking more, giving in to the person he had always wanted to be and never been allowed to. He stopped refraining and Iwaizumi, even though he still flinched at the sound, never made a move to run away from the bard. He didn’t judge him, didn’t kick him out, and he didn’t push him further than Oikawa was willing to go, either.

The more time they spent together, the fonder Oikawa became of the other man.

He was already accustomed to the way the sun woke him up at dawn, its rays teasingly warming his cheeks before it slided up to his eyes, forcing him awake.

Oikawa let out a yawn and stretched in his bed, hugging his pillow a few seconds longer before he eventually decided it was time to get up. His stomach growled like a cavernous monster just pulled from its centuries-long slumber, but it would have to wait.

First things first: the appetizer. The real meal would come later.

Jumping to his feet with more energy than he had ever had, Oikawa put on fresh clothes — a fitting dark blue waistcoat laced on the front over his favourite white shirt and equally white trousers that flattered his silhouette — and walked into the corridor as if he had always been living there. He stopped in front of the other door and pushed it open lightly, leaning on the frame with a smile across his face.

Iwaizumi didn’t even bother to flick a look at Oikawa, and Gods, the bard was glad for it. He settled against the wood more comfortably, crossing his arms over his chest in one of his most attractive stances and enjoyed the sight that was offered to him every morning.

On the floor in front of him, Iwaizumi went on unbothered with his series of push-ups — by that time he was already used to his guest walking in on his morning routine, anyway.

His muscles danced under his tan skin, highlighting the pearl-coloured scars that crossed his back and striped his arms. One of them, deeper than the rest, twirled around his biceps like a pale tattoo carved into his flesh. Oikawa knew that if Iwaizumi faced him, he’d see another series of marks lining his chest. Among them, the ones that worried Oikawa the most were the twin scars that started on the druid’s collarbone and stopped right over his heart. He wondered how close Iwaizumi had been to looking Death in the eyes when he had gotten them. There were far too many scars on him for the peaceful life a druid was supposed to live.

“Can I help you?” the latter groaned after long minutes Oikawa spent staring at him in silence.

He didn’t glance at the other, but the bard knew Iwaizumi was aware of the smirk that spread on his lips.

“Actually, no, thanks, I’m more than fine watching.”

This time, the druid flicked him an annoyed look, only to be met with a radiant shit-eating grin. Much to his displeasure, there wasn’t anything within arm reach that he could throw at Oikawa.

"Get out of here," he barked instead.

For once, Oikawa obeyed, his laugh remaining with the druid even after he had left.

By the time Iwaizumi deigned to join his patient in the main room, Oikawa had prepared a hearty breakfast that he had obnoxiously displayed on the table. Plates of grilled fruits with honey, a homemade brioche he had prepared on the day before and left to bake under the ashes, and a divine-smelling juice made of berries and mint were waiting for the druid to taste them. He had even placed freshly cut pine branches for decoration — they weren’t a waste, Iwaizumi would use them later for some druid work.

As soon as he saw the royal meal, Iwaizumi froze and sent his guest a confused gaze.

“What’s that for?”

The other shrugged, a smug and almost victorious smile floating on his lips. He wasn’t sure either, actually, it was only that he felt particularly jolly and wanted to share his good mood with Iwaizumi.

That was not the reason he gave, though.

“I figured that if I showed you you can actually eat other things than mushrooms you’d be more inclined to try and cook better meals, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes and gave a pointed look at the piles of spoons and bowls and other dishes that Oikawa had used.

“I’m not washing your mess,” he retorted before leaving for the bathroom.

Oikawa’s heart sank in his chest and a pout made its way to his lips. Had he really put so much effort into it for nothing? Suddenly, the food didn’t look as appealing as it had two seconds ago, and the mountain of dishes behind him looked like it was going to fall upon him.

Stupid druid that ruined his mood in two seconds top. Oikawa was still polite enough to wait for him to come back before he started eating.

As soon as Iwaizumi sat down at the table, Oikawa glared at him, not pulling a better reaction than a raised eyebrow out of his host.

“You’re not trying to poison me, are you?” the druid asked, poking at his food distrustfully.

There was a teasing smile playing at the corner of his mouth, an almost soft sight that made all of Oikawa’s irritation at the other melt like snow under the sun.

“Of course not. I’ll wait until you’ve solved the voice problem,” he replied, unable to refrain the grin that tugged at his lips. “When you’re so addicted to my cooking that you don’t suspect anything anymore.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” the druid mocked, and Oikawa gestured at him to take a bite, a challenging look in his eyes.

He felt nothing of the confidence he feigned when Iwaizumi brought a spoon of a fruit Oikawa had never seen before to his lips — he had only used it because he liked the smell — but the pride and genuine joy that washed over him when the other’s eyes lit up was nothing artificial.

Iwaizumi stared wide-eyed at his plate, then at Oikawa, and took another mouthful as if doubting his own taste buds. The bard hadn’t touched his own plate that Iwaizumi was already done with his.

A resigned sigh escaped the druid’s lips where a contrite smile rested lazily.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. I’ll have to actually be careful when we’ve cured you.”

The bard’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned forward to rest his chin on his palm, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“No more mushrooms?”

Iwaizumi frowned.

“I never said that. But feel free to cook whenever you want to,” he added casually.

His cheeks took a slightly pinker undertone but it was enough to stir butterflies awake in the pit of the bard’s stomach.

The afternoon was spent like every other afternoon, with Oikawa staying in his room so that he wouldn’t disrupt the druid’s sessions. It wasn’t as lonely as it sounded, but it was definitely far more quiet than what Oikawa was starting to get used to. He couldn’t risk speaking whenever they had people over, and thus he remained upstairs, watching Iwaizumi do wonders in the garden from a safe distance.

On that day, the early spring sun was particularly favourable to the druid. It made his eyes glow brighter and gave his hair more softness than it usually had. Even from up there, Oikawa couldn’t help but be drawn to him — no wonder why he had so many people asking for his help.

He was chatting with a young person in the garden, neither a man or a woman, from what Oikawa could tell, and probably not human either. They towered over Iwaizumi by one head at least, their pale skin glowing gently under the sunlight. They would have been intimidating, with their dark hair pointing at the sky and their impressive stature, but the way they stood made them look harmless, shy, even, compared to Iwaizumi’s assurance.

In front of them, the druid bore this slight frown that he always had whenever he was trying to find a solution to a difficult problem. He crossed his arms over his chest and pointed at another part of the yard, the one where he grew vegetables rather than medicinal plants.

Intrigued, the bard couldn’t help but bend forward. He leant on the windowsill and his movement caught the visitor’s attention, drawing a pair of ashy eyes to him.

A grin stretched across the bard’s lips, one that he made sure was bright and charming, and the woodland creature tentatively waved his hand in greeting. Iwaizumi turned around to give his housemate a weary look, one of those that gave off “I’m so done with you” vibes but that were betrayed by the faint curve of the druid’s lips.

Oikawa knew he had won as soon as Iwaizumi raised his hand and gestured for him to join them. He rushed out of his room and down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last few steps, and opened the front door wide, only to find his host waiting for him.

“Don’t open your mouth,” the druid reminded him under his breath, and Oikawa rolled his eyes at the obviousness.

They joined their visitor farther in the garden and the bard plastered a friendly expression upon his face. From up-close, he could tell for sure that the other didn’t have a drop of human blood.

Their eyes were too dark, an almost homogenous shade of black that Oikawa had never seen anywhere else. Their skin reflected the sunlight like quartz, glistening more than glowing, and it looked as hard as a rock.

“Oikawa, This is Kindaichi,” the druid introduced them, and Kindaichi offered the bard a shy smile. “They live nearby and often come here to help in exchange for some potions or vegetables.”

He stopped a few seconds to study the younger one, a thoughtful air on his face.

“Kindaichi has an ability to… find things, to put it simply,” he continued before he turned to the latter. “Do you think you can see what’s wrong with him?” 

He pointed at Oikawa, a glimmer of hope piercing through his voice. His eyebrows twitched into a frown as soon as he realised that Kindaichi was no longer paying him attention. Instead, the other was staring at Oikawa, visibly confused.

“You… you’ve got something in your hair,” they faltered, pointing a clawed finger at their own head.

The bard mimicked their position, running his hand through his brown locks. Something stung his skin and he grabbed the foreign object with a frown. It turned into a horrified expression as soon as he recognized what it was.

The single feather was thin and fluffy, all warm shades of brown that blended together in a delicate pattern; the skin-coloured shaft was tainted with a drop of dried blood.

Oikawa tossed it away in disgust as if the sheer contact had burnt him. He jumped back when the wind pushed the feather toward him again, a whine passing his lips, and Iwaizumi snorted beside him.

"What? Is the half chicken scared of birds?" he teased.

His smile faded when he noticed how pale Oikawa’s face had turned, all colours suddenly drained out. He looked sick and panicked. His lips parted, white compared to their usual rosy shade, and Iwaizumi slammed his hand over the bard’s mouth before he had the time to say anything.

“Okay, I don’t know what’s up with you but go back inside while I finish here with Kindaichi,” the druid ordered, locking eyes with Oikawa.

The other’s pupils retracted in pain and Iwaizumi’s heart ached at the sight. He clicked his tongue, an apology ready, but Oikawa didn’t let him speak.

The bard narrowed his eyes and shoved the druid’s hand away. He casted one last glance on Kindaichi before he left, and Iwaizumi’s whole body collapsed as he exhaled a long breath.

“I don’t think he’s okay,” Kindaichi pointed out after a long silence.

They didn’t miss the way Iwaizumi kept glancing back at the cabin. His eyes drifted to the window on the first floor where Oikawa had first appeared but there was no sign of life coming from the house. It was eerily silent, too calm for it to be normal.

“Yeah, I don’t think so either…”

Iwaizumi was worried, Kindaichi read in his stance, but there was something more to it.

Nonetheless, the druid took Kindaichi to the vegetables as usual, filling up the woodland one’s bags enough for them to be able to feed their big family for the next few weeks. They chatted a bit; Kindaichi told him about the new friend they had made, a merfolk named Kunimi. In spite of all the glances Iwaizumi flicked back at his house, Oikawa didn’t show up again.

* * *

It was almost an hour later that Iwaizumi crossed the threshold of his house. Kindaichi had finally left, taking with them half of the garden, but keeping the druid busy hadn’t been enough to get rid of the guilt stabbing him in the chest.

It pushed deeper into his heart when he found Oikawa sitting at the table in the main room, his eyes resolutely fixed on a knot in the wood.

Iwaizumi waited for a moment but the bard refused to look at him, his face painted with a mix of emotions that the druid didn’t manage to decipher. Silence stretched, tense or awkward, Iwaizumi wasn’t sure, and eventually he dropped onto a stool beside his guest with a long sigh.

Oikawa didn’t move. He didn’t look at Iwaizumi, and it was too much for the latter to bear.

“What can I do to help?” he asked, the timber of his own voice so soft that the druid barely recognised it.

He knew how to deal with Oikawa’s fake cheerfulness, with his teasing and his flirty lines, but it was the very first time that Iwaizumi saw the extent of the curse that affected him. In front of him was a new version of his guest — friend? — and he wasn’t sure he really liked what he saw.

The bard stood up, eyeing a parchment that Iwaizumi had forgotten to put back in place, and the druid caught his wrist before he could go any farther.

“Oikawa, talk to me.”

The impact that these words had on Oikawa in that instant was obvious to the eye, and yet Iwaizumi couldn’t have the slightest idea of how much they resonated into the bard. He froze on the spot, his eyes widening even though Iwaizumi couldn’t see his face, every muscle of his body tensing up.

 _Talk to me_.

He didn’t want Oikawa to write it down. He was asking him to make his voice heard, to speak out, and there wasn’t a part of Oikawa that doubted the sincerity of the druid’s words.

He wanted Oikawa to talk to him. He meant it.

He probably had no idea how much it meant for the bard, but when the latter turned to him, slowly, tentatively, green eyes scanned his face in search for an answer, concern visible in every line of his face.

Oikawa had no choice but to surrender in front of such earnestness.

“Can you…” His voice broke and he cleared his throat before giving it another shot, his eyes resolutely focused on the druid’s shoulder — Iwaizumi’s gaze was too intense to be faced without consequences. “Can you stop calling me a half-chicken?”

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to freeze. His grip loosened around the other’s wrist and for the first time the bard saw him struggle with words.

Iwaizumi rested his hand on his lap and his jaw clenched painfully. He clicked his tongue; a frustrated sigh escaped his lips before his gaze settled once more on Oikawa

"I'm sorry, I... I wanted to tease you but obviously it was offensive and I was stupid. I won't do it again."

He didn’t ask Oikawa to forgive him, neither did he ask how to make amends. He apologized and went on. He failed and learnt, and for some reason it lit up a spark within the bard. Somehow, he knew that the trust he had in Iwaizumi wasn’t misplaced. It wasn’t earnt, it was given, and Iwaizumi was ready to prove to Oikawa that he would never have to take it back.

The bard sat down with a shuddering breath, his fingers locking into his curls on each side of his face, and he closed his eyes to let the pent-up tension flow out of him. A hand hovered above his back; it brushed his shoulder blade and Oikawa jumped at the touch.

The alarmed look he shot Iwaizumi when he retreated was enough for the druid to come closer and squeeze his forearm.

“Oikawa?” he called, and the bard relaxed a little more at the sound of his voice.

It was low and grounding, anchoring him into the present rather than the past. It pushed him to look up instead of down.

He let his palm rest on the table, the uneven wood pressing patterns into his skin. Iwaizumi’s hand didn’t let go of him. It wasn’t heavy, it was just there, and it was all that Oikawa needed.

“Say, that thing you made for breakfast, what did you put in there?" the druid continued, his voice soft and low.

He kept his eyes on the other, studying his reactions, trying to talk him out of his own head, to push him to open up instead of closing off.

Oikawa softened at the attention.

“Coriander?”

The sound of his voice was barely recognizable, even to his own ears. It was rougher than usual, probably more painful to human ears as well, but Iwaizumi didn’t even flinch a second.

“Was it?” the druid prompted again.

Oikawa hummed a reply. Iwaizumi didn’t give up on his case.

“Can you show me how you baked it?” he pushed again, and this time, Oikawa cracked a small smile, the warmth of Iwaizumi’s hand on him spreading to his chest.

“Only if you spare me the mushrooms for today,” he hazarded.

Iwaizumi’s eyes sparkled with malice; the sound of his laugh filled the room — it made Oikawa’s heart feel way lighter than it had ever been.

* * *

Oikawa had forgotten all about the incident when he woke up on the next day. As it was now part of his morning routine, he made his way to the druid’s room and stood in his doorframe, a cocky grin already on display. It vanished as soon as he realised the room was empty, and Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat. Had it been too much? Had Iwaizumi had enough and jumped ship?

His worry turned into gloomy concern when he found the druid working in his atelier downstairs, his skin pale and his features drawn.

“Iwa-chan, you look terrible,” he greeted the other, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt at scolding him.

It wasn’t very effective, considering the fact the druid barely flicked him a look.

“One more word and I’m banning every sweet food from this house,” Iwaizumi threatened instead, pulling an offended gasp out of his host.

“You’re mean. I hope you’ll find a bad mushroom one day and it’ll make you reconsider your poor life choices,” the other replied sulkily, puffing his cheeks like a kid for a few seconds.

When Iwaizumi didn’t add a word and resumed working on whatever it was he was doing, Oikawa’s curiosity got the better out of him — not that it needed much for him to hover around Iwaizumi. He walked closer to the druid, peeking over his shoulder and humming to himself, finding delight in the way the druid’s muscles tensed and his jaw clenched in frustration.

Iwaizumi shoved him aside to sit at his desk. He had only written down a few words when Oikawa’s hands landed on his shoulders and the bard leant onto him to have a look.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” the druid growled, tilting his head up to glare at Oikawa.

The other offered him a blinding smile that would have rivaled the sun.

“No.”

Next thing the bard knew, there was a book in his face and someone shouting in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you too would like to watch Iwaizumi working out every morning o/


	5. Chimeras of peaceful days

Even though Oikawa had barely spent a few weeks in the company of the druid, he could tell that something was seriously off when he found Iwaizumi working in his atelier in the morning for several days in a row.

To be perfectly honest, Iwaizumi was looking worse by the day. His eye bags had taken an almost blue shade and what used to be teases and banter soon turned into heavier arguments. The bomb exploded days later, when Iwaizumi was once again working alone, engulfed in his own druiding stuff that the bard wasn’t allowed anywhere near.

Oikawa was playing the lyre in the main room when the first customer arrived — a young girl with big brown eyes and long blonde hair clutching something in her hand. She entered hesitantly, looking at the two men like a terrified creature most likely to run away at the slightest move, and Iwaizumi casted a threatening glare on Oikawa.

_ Don’t scare her off _ , it meant, and the bard frowned back. He didn’t need a reminder that his voice was still horrifying to hear.

The girl followed the druid in his workroom, flicking a frightened look at Oikawa who waved at her with a smile. As long as he didn’t speak, it would be fine. He had lived most of his life doing it, why did Iwaizumi think he would mess up?

The sound of the lyre filled the air again as soon as the door closed on them. Oikawa had learnt how to play several instruments on his own. What he hadn’t been able to express with his voice, he had expressed with music, and his fingers were experimented enough to create melodies from scratch on the chords, following the path the bard’s mind wandered. He brushed the instrument, eyes closed, and a smile tugged at his lips. The sound carried him away, to an unexplored land where nymphs would laugh at his jokes and paladins would drop to their knees in front of him, to a place where he would be able to speak his mind without fearing of being left alone once more. He thought of freedom and happiness, of apologies and words of love weaved into acts and little things.

Something swelled in his chest, a feeling all too foreign and familiar at once, something warm and powerful. It took shape inside of him, floating its way to the surface.

The bubble popped as soon as Oikawa noticed the open door and the trails of tears flowing down the young girl’s cheeks. She stared at him, frozen in shock and sobbing, and his fingers hovered over the chords of his lyre, shaking.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Iwaizumi snapped at the bard, and his customer jumped back with a yelp.

She retreated to a corner of the room when the druid marched toward Oikawa and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The instrument slipped from his grip and fell onto the sheep skin on the floor with a dissonant noise.

“You were supposed to keep your mouth shut when we have people over! Not everybody can take the sound of your voice!” Iwaizumi continued, stabbing Oikawa deeper with every word.

“But I didn’t—” the bard stammered.

The girl yipped. Iwaizumi slammed his palm over the man’s mouth, anger glinting cold in his eyes.

“Get out of here, Oikawa,” he said slowly, as if pronouncing a death penalty. “Give me some space for today, I need to focus on what I’m doing and you’ve been distracting me all week.”

There was a beat during which the words sank into the bard’s mind. His shoulders went limp for a second, then he lifted his chin and shoved the druid’s hand aside, glowering at him.

He didn’t look back when he passed the threshold, nor did he when the forest swallowed him. He kept on walking, moving forward until the air grew colder and the rhythm of his steps slowed down. His eyes burnt and he shut them tight. His fist hit the rough trunk of a tree, its bark scorching the side of his hand.

Alone and in pain, Oikawa let out a barely human howl, no longer caring whether it made all life run away dozens of kilometers round. Birds took flight, boars and deers stamped the ground, and he kept on screaming until his lungs were empty and his throat hurt, letting out all the feelings bottled up inside of him.

He had been careless. He had felt so free, so safe with the druid that he had let his guard down and a song had slipped from his lips. He had sung, and the girl had heard his voice. He had sung, and Iwaizumi had kicked him out.

He didn’t know who he was the more mad at in that instant — Iwaizumi, for hurting him, or himself, for being such an idiot.

His voice was a weapon, sharp and dangerous, and Oikawa had grown so used to wielding it carelessly around the druid that he had forgotten how much pain it caused to others. Maybe Iwaizumi could take it, but most people couldn’t, and Oikawa had made the mistake of forgetting about it.

Only the silence of the forest answered the hurricane of his thoughts. Oikawa flicked a look in the direction of the cabin in the woods circled by a garden and protected by runes that Iwaizumi checked on every night. He wondered if he would be allowed in again.

* * *

Night had fallen when Oikawa made his way back to the house. He had been foolish to stay outside so late but on the other hand, nothing would dare approach him with that voice of his. He was in such a bad mood that he was certain whatever would come at him would disintegrate on his word.

The runed fences let him in without posing a problem and so Oikawa made his way back to his room in the eerily dark and silent place. Had Iwaizumi eventually left without an explanation? Oikawa clicked his tongue, letting anger take over the heartbreaking feeling that nipped at his guts.

He grabbed the first candle he found and set it alight, then he made his way upstairs. The bard threw his boots somewhere near the door of his room, shut it close unceremoniously, and put the candle onto the stool that double-functioned as a bedside table. It was only when Iwaizumi groaned in his sleep that Oikawa noticed the man sprawled on his bed. He nearly knocked the candle over at the sight.

His eyebrows knitted into a deep frown, the bard glared at his slumbering host.

“What are you even doing here?” he asked out loud, biting back his words when the druid let out a whine in his sleep. “Don’t tell me my voice still affects you…” he tried again, and Iwaizumi tensed at the sound, his jaw and fists clenching visibly.

Pain flashed on his features and Oikawa let out a weary sigh, laying down his arms in front of the other.

If Iwaizumi reacted like this when he was asleep, it could only mean one thing: all this time he had been bracing himself whenever Oikawa spoke. It had never totally stopped hurting Iwaizumi, he had only made sure that the bard didn’t see it. He had given Oikawa a roof and a shoulder to lean on, and he had opened his heart to make room for a cursed siren-blooded man he knew barely anything of.

Oikawa couldn’t stay mad in front of all the effort. He was too tired to, anyway.

He let out another sigh and ran a hand over his face, all the accumulated stress from the day suddenly weighing upon his shoulders. He brushed off the thought of waking the druid up before it even formed in his mind. Finally, Iwaizumi was having some rest. Oikawa wasn’t such an asshole that he would take it from him.

He sat down on the ground near the bed, blew the candle, and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the mattress.

Not much time had passed when Iwaizumi woke up, judging by the rare rays of moonlight coming from the window. Oikawa blinked sleepily, raising his head only to be met with a confused druid squinting at him.

“‘kawa?” Iwaizumi called, his voice heavy with sleep and so low that it made the bard’s heart skip a painful beat. “What ‘re you doin’ here?”

He sat up, his back sliding against the wall as he lost his balance, and suppressed a yawn that made the bard all the more sleepy. All he wanted was to doze off again and talk about everything later, after a good breakfast and with more sugar into his veins, but visibly the druid had something else on his mind. He leant forward to open the window slightly and cold air entered the room, pulling a groan out of Oikawa.

The glare he flicked Iwaizumi switched to surprise when he saw the little balls of light gathering around the druid’s hand.

Iwaizumi closed the window once all of them had found their way in and rested back against the wall. He lifted his hand, fingers spread, and fireflies danced between them, casting a faint light that flashed alternately. It was enough for Oikawa to catch a glimpse of the sad smile at the corner of the druid’s lips. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his expression or because it was the first time that he really saw Iwaizumi use his druidic powers over nature but something melted inside of him.

Green eyes met his; Iwaizumi looked down at the bed he was in and Oikawa was sure he could see a faint redness spreading on the other’s cheeks when he realised where he had been sleeping.

“Why didn’t you go to my room instead of staying on the floor?” the druid asked again, his voice already more measured.

Oikawa let out a yawn and propped his elbow onto the bed to let his chin rest in the palm of his hand, looking at the other.

“Didn’t want to intrude,” he said in the most harmless voice he could manage, and yet Iwaizumi winced at the sound. “I didn’t want you to throw me out of the window in the morning.”

The druid chuckled softly, the fireflies crowning his head with a halo of light.

“Good thing  _ you  _ didn’t throw me out of the window.”

“I considered it,” Oikawa replied immediately, and suddenly the silence thickened between them.

They stared at each other, waiting for one of them to speak again, to voice the thoughts swirling inside their heads, and eventually it was Iwaizumi who gave up first.

“I usually sleep in this bed whenever I’m too stressed out. When I didn’t find you here, I didn’t have the strength to go back to my own room. You might have noticed that you sleep better here,” he prompted, going on when the bard nodded, curiosity showing in his eyes. “There are calming herbs in the pillow and mattress, that’s why. I should probably put some in my own...” he trailed off.

Once more, silence stretched between them. Iwaizumi’s eyes didn’t leave the other; it didn’t take long for the frown to be back onto his face, marking it with the sceal of worry and guilt.

“About earlier,” he started, licking his lips nervously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. I shouldn’t have told you to get out—”

An unexpected scoff from Oikawa took him aback, and Iwaizumi froze ostensibly at the face the other made.

The bard was done with Iwaizumi’s shit. He was the first one to scold him whenever he was being careless and to snap whenever he screwed up, but he seemed to be forgetting that Oikawa hadn’t been the one pulling on all-nighters for days and days, restlessly working in his atelier to the point the sight of him had become horrifying.

“I don’t care about your apologies,” he cut the other off, straightening up so that he had a better look at the druid. “I don’t want them. What I won’t  _ accept _ , however, is that you lie and hide things from me. I’m counting on you to help me, Iwa-chan, but that doesn’t mean I’m asking you to do it at the cost of your own health.”

The other stared at him agape, unable to throw a word in Oikawa’s monologue. There was no stopping him now.

“You think I didn’t notice that you’re still hurt by my voice?” he continued, softening the edges of his words as much as he could in spite of his irritation. “I don’t care how long it’ll take for me to recover, of whether I will ever be able to hold a normal conversation with someone. I don’t want you to lose sleep over me.” He paused again, his eyes locked with the druid’s, unwavering and deprived of their usual playfulness. “You look awful, Iwa-chan, I’m not kidding. Promise me you’ll take a break from all the druiding. We could go to some place together, or find something to…” he stopped in the middle of his sentence, shutting his mouth one second too late.

He hadn’t meant to go that far in his reasoning but the words had slipped past his lips once again. Iwaizumi had that effect on him — whenever he was around, Oikawa felt like he could tell him everything. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Eventually, the druid cracked a smile, relaxing visibly. His eyes remained on the other, sparkling with an amusement that Oikawa couldn’t quite explain and a gratefulness that the bard was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining.

"You're awfully talkative for a guy who isn't supposed to use his voice," Iwaizumi teased tentatively, a metaphorical hand reaching out in a peace offering.

Oikawa was more than happy to take it.

"I've got more than twenty years of silence to catch up on," he pointed out, a grin making its way across his lips as well.

Iwaizumi breathed a laugh. He didn’t make a move to leave the room and it made Oikawa feel all the more warmer inside.

"And of course I had to be the one to have to listen," the druid feigned to complain, but Oikawa had already stopped paying attention.

“Say, I was thinking—”

“Oh so you do use your brain?”

“Shut up and let me talk!” the other objected, slamming his hand on the mattress in protest.

Iwaizumi laughed again but it quickly died down when the bard crawled closer, the bed creaking under the added weight. Oikawa noted with unhidden delight the way Iwaizumi froze when he claimed his rightful spot on the bed.

He flopped onto his side, far enough from the druid to leave him some comfortable space, and grabbed his travel coat to roll it into a makeshift pillow under his head.

“Good night, Iwa-chan,” he declared, hiding his grin away from the other.

“What is it you wanted to say?” Iwaizumi asked, confused.

Oikawa felt the mattress shift when the druid reached out, stopping right before he touched his shoulder.

“Oikawa?” the other called again.

The bard closed his eyes, falling asleep before Iwaizumi could say anything more.

* * *

Rays of light hitting his eyelids were the traitors that woke Oikawa up on the next day. He huffed, blocking it with his hand, and considered staying there for a few more hours. He was comfortable and his whole body was relaxed, for once. There was a nice warmth spreading in his back — he didn’t think much of it until a breath tickled the nape of his neck.

Scratch the relaxed part. Oikawa stiffened completely. He sent a careful look over his shoulder, only to find Iwaizumi curled up behind him, only a few centimeters away from his skin. He was sound asleep, looking peaceful and so much younger as he wasn’t frowning, but the lovely sight wasn’t enough to prevent panic from rising inside the bard.

He could feel the heat radiating from the other’s hands on his spine. One tiny movement from the druid, and he’d be found out…

Oikawa jumped out of the bed and dashed out of the room before Iwaizumi opened his eyes, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage. It had been a close call, and as much as Oikawa trusted the druid, he wasn’t ready yet to share the true extent of his curse with him.

It wasn’t long before the other joined him downstairs, drowsy and disheveled, his image far from the morning person’s he had displayed until then.

Oikawa’s lips stretched into a smirk when Iwaizumi sat beside him at the table. It turned smug when the druid couldn’t take his eyes off the copious — mushroom-free — breakfast that the other had prepared.

“You know, Iwa-chan, you’ll never find a partner looking like this,” Oikawa mocked, his gaze shining with more malice than Iwaizumi could take in the morning.

“And you won’t find anyone with that shitty personality of yours,” the other replied in a low growl without missing a beat.

_ Personality _ , not voice. Oikawa’s grin widened, far more mischievous than the pure warmth sparkling inside of him.

“So, day off today?” he prompted instead, waving a sticky spoon at the druid who nodded in resignation.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

“No, you don’t,” the other confirmed with a saccharine smile that hid nothing of the threat in his voice. “I found a lake a few hours away from here, have you ever been there?”

He hadn’t finished his sentence that the druid was already choking on his food. Oikawa slid his cup of water toward him, waiting for explanations that were given to him in the shape of an incredulous look.

“You’ve been that far on your own?!”

“Well, someone kicked me out,” he replied, raising an eyebrow, but Iwaizumi didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t go over there alone. Oikawa, I’m not kidding, it’s dangerous.”

The bard scoffed. Dangerous? What could happen to him? One word from him and his enemies would go back to their moms crying.

“If I can take the sound of your voice, others can too,” the druid insisted, staring straight into his eyes, reading his thoughts.

Maybe he made a point, but that didn’t mean Oikawa would admit so. Instead, he leant forward, the smile back onto his lips, teasing.

“And you think you can protect me, Iwa-chan?”

“You think I can’t?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, ever so serious, and a smug smile made its way to his lips when the other failed to reply. “Thought so. Anyway, your choice fell on the lake, then?”

He knew he had made a mistake when Oikawa’s grin widened and that special glimmer lit up his eyes once more.

“I can’t let go of an opportunity to see you take your clothes o—” the asshole began.

Iwaizumi stuffed a piece of honeycomb into Oikawa’s mouth before he could end his sentence. Why had he even tried? That guy was beyond salvation, there was nothing Iwaizumi could do for him.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” the bard eventually managed to gasp.

Iwaizumi only glared. He knew that Oikawa was right, that he — they — needed a day off, some time to relax, but Gods, what had Iwaizumi ever done to deserve such a fate?

* * *

Bags on their shoulders and laughter in the air, the two men walked across the forest without paying much attention to their surroundings. Rows of trees succeeded each other, from birch trees to oaks, to chestnut trees to alders. The smell of water and open spaces hung in the air, faint but close.

Outdoors and free to speak, Oikawa was different from the one Iwaizumi was used to. He was livelier, wearing charisma like a cape around his shoulders. This was the real Oikawa, the one that had never been allowed to see the light of day because of the blood flowing into his veins, and Iwaizumi found himself wanting to see more of him.

A laugh spilling out of his lips and a light redness dusting his cheeks, he looked ethereal. The sun caught in his hair as if it was a trap designed to capture its rays, imprisoning them only to serve a better purpose and make Oikawa glow brighter even than a star. Dark brown eyes fell on the druid, surprise melting into amusement, and only then did Iwaizumi realise he had been staring.

He looked away. Oikawa slammed his bag onto the druid’s chest, grinning like a mad man.

“First one to the lake,” he whispered in a conspiratorial voice before he ran off.

Iwaizumi blinked in confusion. Several seconds passed before the words hit him and he forced on his legs to follow the other.

“Keep your own bag, asshole!” he shouted, but the last word was drowned in his own laugh.

It didn’t take him long to catch up with the bard — and yet the man was surprisingly fast. He found him standing in front of the water, his back to him, and Iwaizumi had to squint not to get blinded by the light reflecting on the surface of the lake.

“Your bag, Trashykawa,” the druid said, dropping it to the ground next to the other.

Oikawa barely glanced at him. Instead, he tugged on Iwaizumi’s sleeve and pointed at a bird’s nest above them where the parents were feeding their chicks. Life flourished around them, loud and melodious, so different from the silence Oikawa had lived in for so long.

“You can speak,” Iwaizumi assured him, and the bard flicked him a confused glance. “You can speak, I don’t mind.”

Oikawa only shook his head, smiling in that quiet way he always did whenever he put others before him. The contrast with his outgoing self was striking. It was painful to look at, and Iwaizumi slammed his hand on the other’s back to get a reaction out of him.

“Stop doing that. For once you can speak, so do it. There’s nobody you can hurt here beside me. Animals are much more resilient, they’ll go away for a moment but they’ll come back, so don’t be afraid to use your voice when it’s just the two of us.”

The bard let out a sigh.

“But will you come back, though?”

A raven chick food called in the distance. Iwaizumi turned to his friend with a frown, unsure whether Oikawa had really spoken or he had imagined it. The bard started unpacking his bag, unbothered by the other’s trouble.

He sat down on a flat rock at the edge of the water and strummed a few notes on the lyre he had brought with him.

“You’re not going to swim?” the druid asked, peeling his clothes off without further ado.

“Nah, I’m not fond of water,” Oikawa winced — for some reason, Iwaizumi didn’t believe him. “Besides, it’s full of leeches,” he added, pointing at silver ribbons swimming among the fish beneath him.

The druid stared a bit longer, a frown settling upon his face once more, but if Oikawa didn’t want to talk to him, then there was probably not much he could do. He shrugged his concern off and walked into the water.

The freshness engulfed him at once, welcomed after the long nights he had spent working on something — anything — that would be able to ease Oikawa’s condition a bit more. He had tried everything: he had brewed plants together, used moon water collected up in the mountains, drawn runes in the bare ground and he had even tried asking for help, but as long as he didn’t know what exactly affected Oikawa, there was nothing much he could do. So far, his only lead was that siren part of the bard, but not much was known about these creatures, especially so far from the sea.

It was only when a wave of pain hit him that Iwaizumi noticed that Oikawa had disappeared from his spot on the rock. He quickly swam back to the shore, stumbling over rocks that cut his ankles and his palms open. He called around for his friend as he struggled to get his trousers and shirt back on. They stuck to his wet skin, the thick linen being stubbornly uncooperative.

“Sit!” a voice commanded, although it was shaking with fear. “Stay away from me!”

The druid clenched his jaw. His vision flashed white at the raw sound of Oikawa’s voice and he fell forward again. Only the feeling of sharp rocks pressing into his wounds kept him from passing out on the spot.

He leant on the nearest trunk, leaving a red mark on the light bark, and took a step in the direction of the now eerily silent voice.

If he called for Oikawa, the sound of the bard’s voice would give him the final blow. If he remained quiet, he wasn’t sure he would be able to reach him in time.

Iwaizumi braced himself. He shouted the other’s name again, but the man didn’t reply.

There wasn’t much of a choice left for him. At least, he was already starting to recover from the bard’s magic. He listened to the silence, paying attention to the whispers of the trees and the alarmed trills of a thrush in the distance.

“Take me to him,” he whispered between gritted teeth.

The wind blew in his back, pushing him in a direction he knew was the right one.

After silence came growls, voices that Iwaizumi knew better than most people. He spotted patches of grey and black fur and doubled his pace — a part of his mind regretted that he hadn’t taken the time to put on his shoes, but he would think about his mistake later, when they would be safe and the adrenaline gone from his system.

The trees opened a path before him, twigs and moss replacing sharp rocks. In front of him, Oikawa was on the ground, his back pressed against a tree and terror on his face. A pack of wolves snarled, surrounding him in an attack formation, their eyes resolutely focused on the bard.

Iwaizumi stepped in right before the first attack.


	6. Visible and invisible scars

“Iwa—”

The druid nearly lost his balance and Oikawa immediately shut up. Iwaizumi could feel the bard’s eyes on his back as he stood between the pack and him, his gaze intense enough to pierce a hole through him.

In front of him, one of the wolves licked his chops, drool spilling from its mouth.The animal lowered his body, growling louder, and Iwaizumi stood still, immobile.

“Don’t touch him,” he growled in a low tone similar to the animals’.

He made the mistake of crossing the wolf’s eyes, strikingly clear, and the beast snapped at the air a breath away from the druid’s arm.

“I said  _ back off _ ,” he repeated, drier, and a few of the lower ranked canines whined.

The alpha’s fur bristled and he crouched lower; Iwaizumi eyed the female that moved toward his flank.

“Oikawa, if you can stand up, do it. Slowly. Don’t speak,” he ordered, his left hand reaching out behind his back toward the other.

He listened to the rustle of clothes, his eyes remaining on the animals circling them. Fingers brushed the inside of his palm and Iwaizumi nodded firmly as he took a step back.

Oikawa inhaled sharply when the druid bumped into his chest. His hand pressed flat against the other’s back but Iwaizumi didn’t lose his focus.

“He’s under my protection,” the druid told the wolves. “ _ Don’t come any closer _ ,” he warned the female, glaring at her, and she let out a weak cry as she crawled backwards. “ _ Leave us _ . Tell Kyoutani I don’t have time to waste with him if he won’t bother showing up.”

The alpha male snarled once more and Iwaizumi glowered at him. Brambles spread from the bushes, claiming the small no man’s land between the two sides and pushing the wolves to retreat.

“ _ Go away _ ,” the druid commanded once more, and this time the animal gave in.

He casted one last glance on the human before he left, his pack on his tracks.

As soon as he was sure they were no longer in danger, Iwaizumi exhaled a long breath. It had been a while since the last time he had had to use his melee powers, and it was exhausting.

A thumb brushed his shoulder, reminding him of the bard pressed against his back, and Iwaizumi jumped forward to put more space between them.

When he turned around, Oikawa was sporting an unreadable expression, one that Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he had ever seen on his face.

“Sorry about that,” he started, blinking slowly when his vision blurred at the periphery. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Oikawa opened his mouth, closed it again. He nodded, shook his head. A frustrated frown creased his forehead.

“I’m fine,” he eventually mouthed.

Iwaizumi nodded, lightheaded.

“You can speak,” he assured.

The other huffed and rolled his eyes. He scanned the ground for something, catching the druid’s curiosity. Swiftly turning around, Oikawa picked handfuls of moss from the tree he had found shelter against. He pressed them against Iwaizumi’s ears, holding his head between his hands, and locked eyes with him — Iwaizumi held his breath against his will.

“No, I can’t!” the man scolded the druid, and through the makeshift filter, the wave of pain that washed over Iwaizumi was weak enough for him to take it. “Look at you, you look like you’re one second from passing out!” Oikawa continued, the scowl on his face almost comical. “You’re  _ bleeding _ , Iwa-chan! What happened to you? Talk about taking a day off!” the bard rambled, worry crystal clear in his eyes.

Iwaizumi sighed, closing his eyes and he felt Oikawa twitch against him.

“Hey, stay with me!”

“Shut up,” the druid said without heat. “Just give me some time.”

He felt Oikawa’s gaze on him as he willed his whole body to relax. The bard removed his hand from the other’s ears and Iwaizumi opened his eyelids in confusion when the bard pulled him to the ground.

“What are you—” he started, falling silent when Oikawa picked berries off the summoned brambles.

He held his palm out between them, a couple of black and red fruits staining his skin, and waited for Iwaizumi to eat them all.

* * *

They made their way back to the lake short after. Oikawa’s eyes never left Iwaizumi, not even for one second as he knelt down near the water to clean his wounds. He teared off one sleeve of his shirt to cut it into stripes and bandaged his palm and his ankle without waiting.

“It’ll do for now,” Iwaizumi declared as he pulled on the straps.

The injuries were only superficial but that didn’t stop Oikawa from staring at him with worry. He didn’t play again, even though the druid lay down for a moment on the grass, basking in the sunlight.

“Say, the wolves,” Oikawa started, trying to keep his voice as low and harmless as he could. “What was it about?”

The druid sat up with a sigh and slid his bag on his shoulder.

“Let’s talk on the way back,” he offered, and Oikawa nodded as he packed his things up and followed him.

They walked close to each other, the bard’s arm reaching out every time Iwaizumi showed signs of weakness. His fingertips brushed the small of Iwaizumi’s back every time Oikawa spoke, both support and apologies.

“The wolves,” he reminded the other after another long moment walking in silence.

The druid nodded once, focusing on his thoughts and brushing off the magic behind his friend’s voice as much as he could.

“Every druid has a prefered animal species,” Iwaizumi started, looking straight ahead as if gauging the distance left until the safety of their home. “It’s a species they have more affinity with, one it’s easier to communicate with and who’s easier to understand or summon.”

Oikawa nodded, pushing him to go on.

“I was raised with other druids in a group. It’s a bit like guilds, where we are taught everything we need and where we learn to control our abilities. There were other people around my age with me: Kita and Kyoutani. It turned out that Kyoutani and I both shared a prefered species — the wolf.”

He paused, glancing at Oikawa, but nothing was showing on the bard’s face. He was listening, eager to know more about his friend, respectful of his boundaries.

“Kyoutani kind of saw it as a challenge, and ever since we were kids, he’s kept throwing things at me. He settled down someplace near the lake, that’s why I told you not to go wandering there alone. He’s pretty much my apprentice, but one that wants to take my place, too. He’s not a bad guy,” Iwaizumi sighed. “He’s just a bit lost and lonely.”

It reminded Oikawa of every time Kuroo mentioned his guildmate, Daishou. The nostalgia and the hurt in their voices was the same. They were people they once had been close to and whom life had turned against them somewhere along the way.

“He was still about to get both of us killed,” Oikawa pointed out.

Iwaizumi faltered and the bard’s hand caught his waist to steady him.

“I don’t think he would have gone that far,” the druid opposed, staring into the void, a frown on his face. “As much as he keeps pretending, he’s not a threat,” he muttered, and Oikawa couldn’t tell whether it was the truth or the druid trying to convince himself.

Silence fell again between them, filled with thoughts for Iwaizumi and worry for the bard.

Eventually, the outline of their cabin appeared from behind the trees and both of them quickened their pace at the sight.

“Can I do anything?” Oikawa asked as he helped the other sit down on his bed.

Iwaizumi grimaced as he gripped the edge of his shirt and pulled it off again, all his muscles stiff from the unusual use of power. He asked the bard to fetch him water and fresh bandages along with an assortment of several plants from his workroom. It took Oikawa a long moment to find all the right ones, and when he knocked on the door again, he found Iwaizumi changed into fresh trousers that stopped under the knees, the kind he had once seen sailors wear at the port.

The patchwork of scars striping his body shone faintly under the fading light and Oikawa couldn’t help but stare as he sat beside the druid and handed him everything he needed.

Iwaizumi caught his gaze and an amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You can ask,” he said, startling the other. “About the scars. You never asked how I got them.”

Oikawa swallowed, the air thick in his throat.

“Tell me,” he breathed, and Iwaizumi’s eyes filled with a rare wistfulness.

“Most of them are from fights with wolves or stupid accidents, actually,” he started with a soft laugh.

Oikawa leant closer, as if to drink the words directly from his lips. Iwaizumi quietened, watching the other.

“Pick one,” he told the bard, and immediately the musician’s fingers brushed the inside of his forearm — it tickled like the wind blowing onto wet skin. “Burn from last year,” he announced, grimacing. “I tried to work with hot oil and it backfired.”

“Told you you shouldn’t be allowed to cook,” Oikawa teased.

His index followed the outline of Iwaizumi’s muscles, going up to the deep scar that ate up the druid’s biceps, one of the injuries he was the most curious about. The edges were rough, badly healed. It looked like something had tried to slice his arm off.

His other hand rested on Iwaizumi’s wrist, his palm hovering above the back of the druid’s hand, but neither commented on it.

“This one’s from a sword,” Iwaizumi said, confirming Oikawa’s doubts. “A bad encounter with brigands years ago. I don’t know if I would have made it without Kita and Atsumu,” he confided in a soft voice, and yet there was sadness on his face.

The bard had no idea who he was talking about, but he didn’t push farther. He didn’t dare to. Instead, he slid his hand on Iwaizumi’s back blindly, his eyes on the other’s throat rather than on his eyes. He observed the rhythm of Iwaizumu’s heartbeat through his skin, picking up in spite of his slow movements.

Oikawa didn’t take it as a victory or an event to find joy in. He looked at it casually, fascinated by the way it seemed to match the pace of his own heart.

“Claws,” Iwaizumi enunciated. “From playing with wolves and foxes when I was a kid. We were pretty reckless,” he continued, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

It sounded a bit nervous, but not the bad kind of nervous.

Oikawa probed his other arm with the same slowness, his breaths deep and measured.

“Wolf. Wolf,” Iwaizumi answered every time Oikawa stopped on one. “Thorns. I’m not that good with live plants,” the druid admitted when Oikawa raised his gaze to him. “Burns and cuts from the past week,” he continued when the bard lifted his hand and brushed the scratches on his skin. “Tripping over my own feet while worrying for the dumbass I had told not to walk around alone,” he added when Oikawa brushed his thumb on the inside of his palm.

The other flashed him a glare but Iwaizumi’s crooked smile was quick to calm him down.

Eventually, the bard focused on the last visible ones: a scar lining his throat like a necklace — “I actually don’t remember about this one.” —, a burn that crossed his chest — “Careless ironsmith.” —, a bunch of other scratches over his stomach from experiments and treacherous plants and wild animals — “This one’s from a pretty rude wild boar,” Iwaizumi laughed when Oikawa frowned at an injury slicing his side.

He didn’t mention the fang marks on the druid’s shoulders, obviously from predators. He focused on another one that had caught his attention on day one. Or rather, he focused on twin scars that barred the man’s chest, deeper than most of the rest.

His fingers started at the base, on the other’s collarbone, and followed the lines down to the druid’s heart. Iwaizumi’s breath hitched in his throat but he ignored it as well. Oikawa could feel his heart beating right under his fingertips, wild and intense.

“Wolf fangs,” Iwaizumi announced reluctantly.

“This one was a close one,” Oikawa commented, and the druid nodded hesitantly. “Kyoutani?”

Iwaizumi’s body spoke for him. He turned his face away, his eyes filling with a sorrow that was unbearable to the bard.

“It was an accident. It’s after this attack that Kyoutani left to live on his own. So did I.”

Another familiar story, Oikawa mused, one that he had already heard from a rogue back in Nekoma village.

He ran his hand back up the other’s chest, his touch feathery light, following his throat and up to his jaw. Iwaizumi shivered under his touch but Oikawa remained calm.

He brushed the tiny scar right under Iwaizumi’s lip, barely visible to anyone.

“This one?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“I ran into a tree when I was ten and the branch left a mark,” Iwaizumi admitted, his cheeks painting red at the memory.

Oikawa lifted his eyebrows, meeting the other’s eyes for the first time since they had come back from their trip and he burst out laughing at the mix of shame and defiance on the other’s face.

“I really hoped you wouldn’t notice this one,” the druid grumbled, the dark shade spreading to the tips of his ears.

It was absolutely adorable.

Oikawa’s eyes drifted back to the tiny line, hardly paler than Iwaizumi’s skin. He brushed it with his thumb and let his hand rest on the other’s cheek for a moment longer.

“Oikawa?” the druid called, his voice sounding so far away to the bard.

He leant in slowly to press a kiss at the corner of Iwaizumi’s lips, the touch brief and tender.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered.

The pace of the druid’s heartbeat picked up under his skin. Oikawa gazed at him a few more seconds before he pulled back from Iwaizumi’s space. As if under a spell, Iwaizumi didn’t manage to take his eyes off the bard as he left the room with a small wave of his hand.

* * *

Nothing more happened between them in the following week, even though Iwaizumi might have stolen more than one glance at Oikawa.

There were nights when the druid joined the other’s bed unannounced, passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow. During those nights, Oikawa barely slept. He was tense, his back to Iwaizumi making him immensely more vulnerable than what he could take. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Iwaizumi woke up one day and realised just how far Oikawa’s curse extended.

He couldn’t let him know — he didn’t want it to be the final blow that would push Iwaizumi to reject him. Oikawa wouldn’t be able to stand it, not when the druid had taken such a huge place in his heart. Therefore, Oikawa barely slept, and even though he took naps when Iwaizumi worked with his customers, it made him more and more dizzy as time passed.

It didn’t take long before the accumulated lack of sleep made Oikawa screw up.

He opened his eyes with a groan at dawn, the dim light filtering into the room already too much for him to fall asleep. It had been another long night spent listening to Iwaizumi’s breath behind him, tensing up every time the druid stirred in his sleep. Sadly, Iwaizumi didn’t speak when he dreamt, else Oikawa would at least have had that to kill time.

He had considered moving to Iwaizumi’s bed more than once but he couldn’t stand the questions that would ensue. He knew that his friend would feel guilty and would stop crashing into Oikawa’s room — which meant Iwaizumi would lose sleep again, and Oikawa wasn't’ going to let it happen.

As always, he stood up, grabbed his clothes, and made his way out. He didn’t know what pushed him to stop on that morning — or maybe he simply didn’t want to put a name on the creature growing in the depths of his heart — but Oikawa turned around in the door frame to look at the other.

Iwaizumi looked so much younger when he was asleep, the usual crease of his eyebrows smoothed down. He was beautiful, Oikawa admitted fondly. He wished he could go back and slip under the covers, wrap an arm around Iwaizumi and fall asleep against him. How easy it would be, how peaceful.

A light breeze tickled the skin of Oikawa’s back. His heart clenched in his chest and he left Iwaizumi to his sweet dreams.

The day started as usual, with Oikawa brewing strong plants to stay awake and Iwaizumi sending him a disapproving scowl across the room. The water boiled above the fire, the newts living their lives in the ashes, barely aware of the two men they shared space with.

“It’s gonna be sunny today, I may have a lot of people coming over,” the druid announced, studying Oikawa carefully.

The other nodded in understanding. That meant he was expected to stay upstairs or outside and not speak until the visitors had left. Well, Iwaizumi had never stated so, but it was easier for both of them this way. At least, Oikawa didn’t risk scaring Iwaizumi’s clients off again.

“Oikawa, is everything alright?” the druid continued, concern piercing through his voice.

The bard flicked him a quick look, plastering a smile on his face.

“Perfect, Iwa-chan! Don’t worry, I won’t bother you today.”

“It’s not what I meant,” the other groaned, a scowl settling between his eyebrows.

Oikawa glanced at him again. He was certain he had seen him flinch when he had spoken. His concerns were true, sleep deprivation made his voice more dangerous — or maybe he only had less control over it, he wasn’t really sure. Both made sense, anyway. He smiled again and left off to the forest, his lyre in one hand and a cup of herbal brewage in the other.

It was only later in the afternoon when the sky clouded over that Oikawa made his way back to the house. No noises were coming from inside and when he peeked, Iwaizumi greeted him with a small smile. He looked exhausted.

“Long day?” Oikawa asked, dropping onto the stool beside the druid.

Iwaizumi let out a long sigh. “Yeah, a lot of things I need to think about. What about you?”

The bard shrugged it off, bumping Iwaizumi’s shoulder with his.

“Just like any other day.”

The silence that settled in the room was different from their usual comfortable ones. Oikawa could feel the weight of the other’s gaze on him. He pinpointed the exact moment when Iwaizumi was about to break it and stood up to put water to boil again.

As much as he liked the other man’s presence, he secretly hoped that he wouldn’t sneak into his bed again. Oikawa wasn’t sure how many more nights he would be able to take before his nerves broke, but he knew it wouldn’t take a lot.

“Oikawa,” the druid called again.

His name sounded so soft on Iwaizumi’s lips, Oikawa wondered how it would taste— He tightened his grip on the bucket of water and poured it in the cauldron. It wasn’t the moment to lose his ground.

He cut himself from the rest of the world and focused on the task at hand. The water went into the cauldron without spilling any droplet around — the newts were out of trouble. His gaze blurred metal and liquid together as he waited for it to boil and Oikawa nearly fell asleep there. He didn’t notice the hand that hovered above the small of his back.

He reached out for the hot water, the herbs for his tea ready beside him without him recalling preparing them.

“Come on, let me—” Iwaizumi started.

Too close. He was too close.

Oikawa jumped, turning around and sending the empty cup the druid had tried to take from him flying to the wall.

Several things happened at once, then. Iwaizumi reached out to try and stop him from moving farther. Oikawa took another step back, dangerously close to the boiling cauldron. Iwaizumi shouted something. Oikawa’s hip bumped into the giant pot that swung, away and then closer, sending burning water toward them.

The bard knew he was done for when the druid’s expression switched from panic to pain and guilt immediately washed over him.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi hissed, promptly taking his hand back and protectively bringing it to his chest. “Fuck, that hurts.”

He clenched his teeth, briefly glaring at Oikawa through his pain, and stormed upstairs, leaving the bard with his thoughts for own company.

* * *

Iwaizumi fumbled in his drawers, opening one after the other, his right hand kept close to his chest so that he wasn’t tempted to use it. He knew he had some  Saint John’s wort oil somewhere in a vial, but he couldn’t remember where he had put it for the life of him.

He turned to the wardrobe and moved aside piles of already wrinkled shirts, frustration adding to the pain throbbing in his hand.

Eventually, Iwaizumi gave up. He turned around and opened his window, sticking his fingers in the dirt box that hung there. Plantain grew quickly, the herb he was the most familiar with, and he ripped fresh leaves to throw them into a mortar.

The druid crushed them with strength. He added a few droplets of water and when he judged the paste satisfying enough, he extended his burnt hand in front of him. He couldn’t stop the shaking of his fingers, but even though his skin was red, it didn’t seem that bad. It would only hurt for a few days.

“Iwa-chan?”

He turned around swiftly, startled by the piercing sound of Oikawa’s voice. Pictures of scorched land flashed behind his eyelids; his cabin reduced to ashes, someone missing in the desolated landscape.

Iwaizumi focused back onto the present, the contrasting freshness of the poultice on his damaged skin helping him get more grounded.

“Oikawa?” he asked in turn, wincing slightly when the room spinned in front of him.

The bard hesitated, torn between coming in or running away.

“Are you okay?” he said slowly.

Iwaizumi nodded. He waved his hand at the other and Oikawa grimaced at the sight of the green paste.

“Just need to put a cloth on it for a few minutes and it’ll be fine,” the druid assured in spite of the pain. “How are the newts?”

“I made sure they were alright,” the bard said with a nod, confirming Iwaizumi’s thoughts.

He had taken time to make sure that nobody was hurt instead of feeling sorry for himself. That was good. Maybe Oikawa wasn’t in such a bad state as the druid had thought at first… and yet he was pale, so much more than he usually was. Dark circles ate at his features, and even his hair looked tern and rougher than it used to be.

“Do you think you could make us dinner?” Iwaizumi asked, carefully studying the other.

There was something odd in his stance. A lump in his shoulders that Iwaizumi didn’t like very much.

“I think I’ll do more harm than good if I make an attempt at cooking,” the druid continued.

A small smile stretched the bard’s lips, full of guilt, and immediately Iwaizumi regretted his words. He took a step forward, reaching out to Oikawa without being sure of what his next move would be, but the druid froze in his tracks.

There was a dark stain dying the delicate leaf green of Oikawa’s shirt on his side, carefully hidden from the druid’s sight. As soon as Oikawa noticed the attention, he stiffened, glancing at the wet cloth and then at his friend.

Panic flashed in his eyes and Iwaizumi made his best to soften his expression, ignoring the storm of emotions that swirled inside of him. He hadn’t even stopped to make sure that Oikawa hadn’t been burnt as well. Worse, he hadn’t even thought about it — he had only cared about his own injury, and when Oikawa had come to him, all that Iwaizumi had done was to ask about the newts in the fireplace. The thoughts that the other could be harmed hadn’t even crossed his mind.

He brushed the guilt away with a frown and turned back his concern to Oikawa.

“Why haven’t you said anything? Let me see,” Iwaizumi asked in a breath, but Oikawa flinched when Iwaizumi extended his arm toward him. “It’s just me. Come on, let me have a look, you probably got burnt as well.”

A scold pierced through his voice, the frown settling deeper on his forehead. For the first time, what Iwaizumi read in Oikawa’s eyes wasn’t the fear of Iwaizumi running away — it was the urge to run away from Iwaizumi.

The druid froze again, incomprehension washing over him, and Oikawa averted his gaze.

“I can’t,” the bard whined between his teeth.

Iwaizumi’s mind went back to the lake, when Oikawa had refused to join him for a swim. Maybe he hadn’t been afraid of water, after all…

“Oikawa,” he called again, softer than he had ever been. “Show me. Let me make sure you’re okay. Please.”

He closed the distance between them, slowly, carefully, hating the way the siren-blood’s body started shaking.

“Don’t run away from me,” he begged again, his fingers brushing Oikawa’s wrist.

The other jumped a little at the touch. He finally turned his gaze back to Iwaizumi and a bitter laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re stealing my line, Iwa-chan.”

His eyes glinted with a pain deeper than Iwaizumi had ever seen on him, a storm that had nothing to envy to the sights that crept into Iwaizumi’s mind whenever Oikawa’s power struck.

The druid pulled him closer, pushed him to the middle of the room, and closed the door behind them.

“It’s just you and me, Oikawa. You’ve seen my scars,” he continued, locking eyes with the other who swallowed uncomfortably. “Show me yours.”

He didn’t expect it to work but to his greatest surprise, Oikawa nodded slowly. He touched the lace of his shirt, shoulders tense, and flicked another unsure look at the druid.

“Can we…” he started, motioning for them to switch places.

Iwaizumi nodded and walked around him to sit on the mattress, dropping at eye-level with the burn he expected to find on the other’s skin.

Oikawa took in a deep breath and pulled his shirt over his head, facing the druid. He kept his eyes closed, his expression pained and resigned, but Iwaizumi didn’t understand what was wrong. Was he insecure? He would never have imagined—

Iwaizumi’s mind blanked for a split second when he noticed a line of brown along Oikawa’s spine. He flicked it a quick glance and took the bard’s wrist gently, pulling him closer to him and putting his attention back on the injury.

His fingers hovered above Oikawa’s pale skin and he led him to turn around, his thumb instinctively brushing Oikawa’s side in comfort when the bard took another sharp inhale.

Another quick glance assured Iwaizumi he hadn’t imagined it. Now he understood Oikawa’s reaction, but Iwaizumi was a druid, he was professional — and there was nothing in Oikawa that could make Iwaizumi run away from him.

He could bear the sound of his voice and the pain it inflicted. There was no reason for him to mind the feathers that grew along the bard’s spine, spreading on his shoulder bones in lines of peppered brown — the same shade as the one Kindaichi had seen on Oikawa one week ago.

It all made sense, suddenly — Oikawa’s reaction to Iwaizumi’s lousy chicken jokes, his panic whenever he saw a feather, the reason why he had refused to go into the lake. Iwaizumi’s heart clenched painfully and he tore his gaze away, focusing on the red skin on Oikawa’s lower back, where the water had spilled.

“You’ll be okay, this is just a light burn,” Iwaizumi declared, fingers brushing the injury. “Do you want me to put anything on it? It’ll help if it burns—”

“Are you not going to comment on them?” Oikawa barked, cutting him off.

Iwaizumi fell silent, his eyes drifting again, tracing the trail of feathers that he supposed was another effect of the residual siren blood flowing in Oikawa’s veins.

“Funny, huh?” the bard spat with a bitterness that was almost venomous. “If I talk to people they run away, but even if I somehow manage to get close to them without speaking, my own body makes sure they freak out.”

His muscles stiffened under Iwaizumi’s hand when he tensed up, almost panting.

“There are plenty of people who have feathers, you know. Or scales or whatever,” the druid stated patiently.

He looked up to Oikawa’s face turned away from him. His thumb stroked the other’s skin gently, requiring his attention, but Oikawa only trembled more, rage and disgust playing with his mind.

“ _ Creatures _ , Iwa-chan. Creatures, not people.”

Iwaizumi’s other hand slipped up the man’s back, the palm pressing flat against his skin, and eventually Oikawa conceded looking at him.

They locked eyes, distress meeting a soothing calm. Iwaizumi wasn’t smiling. His expression was earnest, and so was the contact of his skin on Oikawa’s.

“Does that really have to make a difference?” the druid said, and Oikawa’s shoulders dropped at once, giving up. “I’ve met mermen that were kinder than humans, and dragon-borns who were more selfless than knights. It’s not about what life makes of you, Oikawa, it’s about what you make of it.”

Again, the bard looked away, but not fast enough for the druid to miss the tears gathering in his eyes. Oikawa smothered a hiccup, shaking again, but it was out of relief rather than fear.

“Why aren’t you running away?” he asked in a wet voice.

Iwaizumi stood up, his hand sliding up the other’s back as he moved to face him, never breaking contact. He waited for Oikawa to look at him and offered him a sad smile.

“Why do you keep expecting me to?”

It didn’t take more for the remaining parts of Oikawa’s walls to break. He shut his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug that could have killed the poor druid on the spot.

Oikawa didn’t sob. He hid his face in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, taking deep breaths until he calmed down. Iwaizumi traced circles and patterns only he knew on the bard’s skin. They didn’t have any magical properties, but maybe Oikawa thought so, because after a long time remaining in the same position, Iwaizumi nearly found him asleep on his shoulder.

“Do you—” he started, slowly pulling away.

The druid stopped mid-sentence when Oikawa tightened his grip around him. Iwaizumi placed a hand on Oikawa’s neck, smiling to himself when the bard let out a soft breath.

“You can…” Oikawa faltered, drawing Iwaizumi’s gaze back to him.

Iwaizumi nudged him with his cheek, soft curls brushing his skin.

“You can touch them if you want,” the bard finished.

His eyelashes brushed Iwaizumi’s neck when he blinked. For a second, the druid considered refusing, unwilling to push Oikawa’s limits too far. He changed his mind when he realised what Oikawa’s words truly meant.

These were Oikawa’s own scars, as deeply rooted into his life as were Iwaizumi’s. He wasn’t speaking lightly. This was Oikawa baring his heart to Iwaizumi, trusting him with his secret, with his life.

Iwaizumi didn’t question him again. He pulled him even closer, fingers resting above the burnt skin. His other hand slid down Oikawa’s neck, following the line of his spine until he met the characteristic texture of feathers, rigid and soft.

His attention remained on Oikawa, studying his reactions, and he pressed his cheek against him when he noticed that Oikawa was studying him back.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Oikawa hummed in response. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh, causing Iwaizumi to chuckle.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Oikawa, we still have dinner to make and I’m starving.”

“Way to ruin the moment, Iwa-chan,” the other complained, and yet he didn’t move before a while, savouring the feeling of trust for just a moment more.

Eventually they pulled away, Oikawa averting his gaze as he put his shirt back on.

“Iwa-chan?” he called again when the other turned to the door.

Iwaizumi stopped still, raising an eyebrow.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

The druid had planned to leave him alone, for once — he was pretty sure that Oikawa lost sleep whenever Iwaizumi crashed beside him — but in front of the bard’s pleading eyes, there was no way he could refuse.


	7. The easy path and the right one

When Oikawa woke up the next day, Iwaizumi’s body pressed against his back and his breath tickling his neck, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He made a move to jump out of the bed when memories from the past day flowed back into his mind.

Oikawa froze, slowly turning his head toward the other’s sleepy form. Iwaizumi groaned, burying his face between Oikawa’s shoulders to hide from the light and Oikawa felt his heart swell at the sight.

He was still there. Iwaizumi had heard his voice — more often than anyone had ever had, actually — and he had seen Oikawa’s ugliest flaws, and yet he was still there, nuzzled against him like it was the most normal thing.

The bard made himself more comfortable on the bed and closed his eyes again, his heart beating with too many feelings than his mind could process.

* * *

From that day on, Oikawa let go of all of his insecurities at once. He was so different from the man who had first stumbled into Iwaizumi’s cabin in the middle of a cold night that there were moments when the druid wondered if some enchantment hadn’t been miraculously lifted — but Oikawa’s voice and the feathers on his back were the proof that miracles didn’t exist.

The bard became more carefree, cheerful without the hint of sadness that had been shining in his eyes until there. He kept teasing Iwaizumi every hour of the day and frankly, there were moments when Iwaizumi wished Oikawa wasn’t so talkative — not that he would ever tell him, he wasn’t a jerk.

Where there had been a visible gap between them at first, there were now casual touches, more frequent and lingering longer as days and weeks flew by. The occasional silences were more comfortable, sometimes filled with the bard’s melodies — Oikawa definitely was a good musician.

It was the beginning of summer and Oikawa put his lyre down on the carpet near him to orbit around Iwaizumi. The druid’s hands were flying above ingredients, mixing them with expertise, and Oikawa grimaced again.

“Iwa-chan, are you trying to get rid of me? Because if you keep putting mushrooms in all dishes I may run away,” he complained, poking at a trumpet of death like it was actually going to kill him.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and let out a weary sigh.

“I’ve been trying to poison you since day one but apparently nothing works,” he said, turning back to raise an eyebrow at his friend.

Oikawa beamed, a radiant smile stretching across his face.

“I’m too tough to die. Besides, you’d miss me. Who would make you the most awesome breakfasts and who would sing you a lullaby before you fall asleep?” 

“Someone who is actually able to make the difference between spinach and sumac,” Iwaizumi countered, raising his voice in an accusing tone.

Immediately, Oikawa’s jaw dropped, offense on full display. “Come on, that only happened once!”

“You could have killed us last time when you put lily-of-the-valley in the bread!” the druid barked, a dangerous light in his eyes.

“I thought it was wild garlic!”

“That’s exactly my point!” Iwaizumi roared, hitting the other’s forehead with his spoon. “You’re not allowed anywhere near the kitchen ever again!”

Oikawa withdrew with a pout, jumping on the counter far enough from the druid not to risk being hit again.

“At least admit you’d miss me,” he insisted after a short — blessed — silence.

Iwaizumi crouched beside the fire and stirred the vegetables in the pan.

“Come on, say it!” Oikawa repeated, but Iwaizumi only ignored him again. “Where is the kind druid who took me in? The Iwa-chan back then would have admitted he would miss me.”

“The Iwa-chan back then had no idea how insufferable you’d turn out to be,” the druid groaned, flicking a look at the other before he cracked two eggs over the fire.

Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive move. They had already spent one full season together and it had been enough for them to fall into a comfortable relationship. They appreciated each other’s company as much as they loved mocking the other, and Oikawa wasn’t one to give up so easily.

“Well, if I’m so insufferable, there’s no reason for you to keep using my bed when you have your own room!” the bard huffed.

A devilish smile tugged at his lips when Iwaizumi tensed up. The druid turned to him as if in slow motion, a wary look on his face.

“You know I need these plants to sleep at night,” he tried carefully, sounding awfully unconvincing.

“You could have put some in your own mattress if you had wanted to,” Oikawa opposed, a smug lilt to his voice.

His satisfaction only grew bigger when Iwaizumi’s cheeks flushed. He knew he had a point, Iwaizumi had stated so months ago, and yet he kept joining Oikawa without a second thought, waking up against him every morning.

The druid turned back to the food.

“They don’t grow in this season, smartass,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

Oikawa laughed. Iwaizumi was a terrible liar.

* * *

The bard remained eerily silent during the rest of the time Iwaizumi prepared their food, but the druid didn’t worry. He knew that whatever Oikawa had on his mind wasn’t something he had to worry about — Oikawa didn’t have that sad pout at the corner of his lips that Iwaizumi had learnt to dread, one that Oikawa himself wasn’t aware of.

Iwaizumi was also pretty sure that he had moved on from their embarrassing conversation and that he was out of trouble. Oh, how wrong he was.

“Do you think it’d cure me if you kissed me?” the bard asked out of the blue.

Iwaizumi choked on his food, staring wide-eyed at the other. He didn’t even manage to get a word past his lips before Oikawa spoke again.

“I mean, you’re pretty much magic yourself, since you’re a druid,” Oikawa insisted, keeping a serious expression in spite of the obvious blush on his face. “Maybe it’d work.”

“Life is not a fucking fairy tale!” Iwaizumi barked immediately, resisting the urge to throw something at Oikawa for being so embarrassing. Really, what was going on with him, that day?!

“So that wouldn’t work?”

His stomach leapt at the glimmer of hope he could see in Oikawa’s eyes. If it was possible, Iwaizumi’s face heated up even more.

“Of course not! Why would you even think it would?!” the druid yelled again, incapable of keeping his voice low.

Oikawa didn’t reply and went back to his meal, but now that he had put the idea in Iwaizumi’s mind, the annoying thought didn’t leave him alone. It was silly — of course it was — but he couldn’t help but wonder just how much Oikawa had been joking.

* * *

At the end of the week, an unexpected visitor came to the cabin. Iwaizumi had finally been able to reach Kita and call him to examine the siren-blood. Kita had listened to his voice, his nails digging into his thighs to resist it; he had examined a feather that Iwaizumi had found in the bed one morning — he refused to force Oikawa to be vulnerable in front of a total stranger — but even the druid prodigee hadn’t been able to put a diagnostic on Oikawa’s situation.

“This is beyond my knowledge,” Kita had admitted, and it had put a serious blow to Iwaizumi’s morale. “Perhaps someone who has already met a siren could help, but I can’t.”

Down in the dumps, Iwaizumi waved the other druid goodbye and casted a distrustful look on the darkening sky. It was going to pour soon and he would probably not have anyone else venturing to him by such awful weather. Kita would be okay, trees would protect him from the rain, but judging by the rolling clouds, any normal person would be drenched in a few minutes outside.

One glance at Oikawa behind him pulled a sigh out of the druid, and Iwaizumi shut the door.

Unpreoccupied, Oikawa dropped onto the sheepskin on the ground, reaching for his lyre. He brushed the strings, starting a cheerful melody and singing along in a light voice that contrasted with Iwaizumi’s gloomy mood.

The druid wasn’t able to take it longer than a few seconds. He dropped to his knees in front of the other and stopped his hand on his instrument.

Oikawa sent him a questioning gaze that only fed the fire raging inside Iwaizumi.

“Don’t pretend this doesn’t affect you, Oikawa,” he growled, placing the lyre back against a shelf.

The other grinned, his smile too wide, his eyes too closed. It made Iwaizumi sick in the stomach.

“I’ve spent more than twenty years of my life feeling sorry for myself, Iwa-chan, I think it’s about time I brush it off.”

Still, something clenched in the druid’s chest. He absentmindedly tightened his grip on Oikawa’s hand, his teeth gritted.

“I’ll find something, Oikawa. I don’t care how much time it’ll take, I told you I’d help you and I will.”

The other’s smile faded to resignation, tainted with a deep sorrow that was unbearable to the druid, and Oikawa let out a sigh. A light lit up in his eyes, fond and grateful, but it only made Iwaizumi feel more guilty.

“Really, Iwa-chan, it’s not that bad,” Oikawa insisted, and Iwaizumi hated that Oikawa meant it. Nobody should have to suffer so much for so long. “Besides,” he faltered, his cheeks dusting with red and his smile glowing brighter, “you know, I’ve been thinking… I don’t mind my situation if you’re the exception who can handle it.”

He knew he had said something wrong when Iwaizumi snatched his hand away as if Oikawa had burnt him. Iwaizumi stared at him as if the bard had gone crazy, searching for the hint of a joke in Oikawa’s eyes, the familiar tease that followed such a declaration, but in spite of how deep he dove in, Iwaizumi found nothing.

He meant it. This idiot meant all of it.

“No.”

Iwaizumi jumped to his feet, a pained expression on his face, mixed with anger and guilt.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he insisted.

He ignored the way his eyes stung and the metaphorical thorns wrapping around his heart. In front of him, Oikawa stared in shock. He stumbled to his feet to be at eye-level with Iwaizumi, incomprehension creasing deep lines on his face.

“I mean it, though!” the bard continued, his voice strong, a hint of defiance curving his eyebrows.

“I know you do,” Iwaizumi snapped. “But I don’t want any of it. That’s not how it works, Oikawa, don’t you dare pick the easy path!”

In front of him, dark brown eyes glazed over. Oikawa straightened up, fully challenging, his easy-going attitude far gone.

“And how is this picking the easy path, Iwa-chan?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“I’m not here to be the miracle you wished for, Oikawa. I’m here to cure you of whatever affects you. I forbid you to think meeting me was enough to solve your situation.”

Oikawa’s brows twitched. He opened his mouth and closed it, words failing him. There was no offense on his face, no pain. It was only his pride that had been hurt, and he glared at the druid in silence, terribly calm.

“I will give you a choice, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi declared again with a rare intensity, locking eyes with the other. “I will get rid of everything that stands in your path. Your voice and your feathers. Then, and _only_ then, I will accept this. You’ll stay because you want to, not because it’s the easiest for you.”

A short silence followed during which they stared down at each other, the tension so thick between them that it was almost suffocating. Eventually, Oikawa lifted his chin, staring down at the druid through narrowed eyes. There was something cold in his stance that sent a desagreable chill down Iwaizumi’s spine.

“And what if I end up picking another path?” he challenged, dry. “What if I leave, Iwa-chan?”

The druid swallowed the lump in his throat, briefly closing his eyes before he set them on Oikawa again.

“Then I’ll know I’ve made the right choice. That’ll mean you’re free to do whatever makes you the happiest without having to stick with the only option.”

Oikawa blew a long sigh through his nose. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, was hardly able to breathe at all.

After one long eternity, Oikawa’s face softened, a hint of defiance still swirling in his gaze. He radiated determination, as if he had just taken a decision after a lifetime of doubting himself. Iwaizumi forced himself to remain unyielding.

“Wouldn’t you miss me?” Oikawa eventually asked.

Iwaizumi’s eyes drifted to the bard. He laid down his arms, resignation washing over him as his mind cooled down.

“Don’t be stupid,” he answered, his voice softer than he had wanted it to be.

For all response, Oikawa grinned. He knew exactly what it meant.

* * *

Iwaizumi left on the following morning, leaving behind him a note that informed Oikawa he was travelling someplace away to meet a friend of his and that he’d be back in a few days.

He wasn’t worried about leaving the bard alone, he knew he could handle any situation perfectly — all that Iwaizumi did before leaving was to make sure the runes around the house were still in place. He didn’t think Kyoutani would ever go as far as coming to him at his own place, but he didn’t want the other druid to prove him wrong while he was away.

He could imagine Oikawa’s face when he would wake up alone and find the message — he would probably curse Iwaizumi for not dragging him along, but the druid needed to meet his friend alone. He had too many things to ask him about.

He was already anticipating how much Hanamaki would tease him… It nearly made him regret his decision.

The journey through the forest was oddly silent in spite of the chirping of birds and the melody of water coursing down the river. Iwaizumi’s connection with nature was far from being as strong as Kita’s, and it was of another kind, but still, even to him it looked foreign, as if he had forgotten the language it spoke. He knew he was on the right path, though, he could recognize the essences he met — oaks and hornbeams that turned into birch trees as he approached a meadow

Soon, Iwaizumi would be able to see the mountains. If he kept a good pace, he’d reach the village before night.

Indeed, the first star was shining far above him when he spotted the roof of the first house. A long sigh of relief left his lips and he picked up his pace, grateful that he had arrived in time.

It was only when he stopped in front of his friend’s door that Iwaizumi realised there were chances that Hanamaki wasn’t home at all. He had told him some time ago that he had found a boyfriend somewhere upper North. It had slipped out of Iwaizumi’s mind since Oikawa had joined him.

Dreadful and feeling stupid, Iwaizumi knocked on the door, praying all the deities he had ever heard of. The inside of the house remained quiet. No light was coming from the windows, and the druid banged his head on the door in defeat.

“What has that door ever done to you?” a mocking voice asked, and Iwaizumi turned around in a jolt, relief washing over him.

“Thank the Gods, you’re here,” Iwaizumi breathed, glaring at the other when he noticed a suspicious bag in his hand. “What were you doing out there?”

“Nothing that’s your business,” Hanamaki grinned mysteriously.

He pulled his hood off his head, revealing raven black hair that turned into light pink under the druid’s gaze, and motioned to the other to move aside so that he could open the door. As soon as they were in, Hanamaki’s appearance completely switched back to his usual self. His skin took a pale colour that was closer to teal than to pale flesh and his round pupils turned into dark slits on his grey eyes.

He flicked a forked tongue at his friend and Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the changeling’s attitude.

“So, what do I owe the honour of Great Druid Iwaizumi’s presence in my humble house?” Hanamaki teased, a knowing look in his eyes.

Had Kindaichi said anything to him? It was well known that information travelled fast among feys, but Iwaizumi wasn’t even sure that the two of them knew each other. Nevertheless, when Hanamaki’s grin widened, thin and mocking, he knew for a fact that the cat was out of the bag.

“I need to know everything you can tell me about curses,” Iwaizumi said with a confidence that was partly fake.

“Curses?” Hanamaki repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you had come to me for love advice.”

He didn’t need to look at the changeling’s mocking expression to know his face was giving his thoughts away.

“I’ve got a bard at home—”

“Oh I’ve had one of those too, once,” Hanamaki mocked, and it took all the effort in the world for Iwaizumi not to crush his foot.

“He’s from siren lineage. His voice has powers and I’ve promised to help him with it but even Kita doesn’t know what to do and I’ve run out of solutions two months ago.”

The changeling’s mischievous expression switched to something that was close to serious, and immediately Iwaizumi was grateful for his attention. He waited as Hanamaki’s frown deepened, questions appearing and dying successively in his eyes.

“Two months ago?” he repeated after a moment. “And you only come to me now.”

Heat crept up the druid’s face once more but he kept staring at the other, challenging.

“I’ve been busy.”

Hanamaki scoffed, a smirk on his lips that Iwaizumi knew he would have to face until he was gone.

“But anyway, siren guy, huh? Iwaizumi, I knew you were picky but I didn’t think it’d take such a rare creature for you to fall.”

“How rare?” Iwaizumi pushed, purposely ignoring the rest of the sentence. “His blood is very diluted though. The last siren in the family was five generations ago.”

“He picked the unlucky number, then,” the changeling shrugged, turning around to brew them some tea.

He tossed the druid a slice of dark bread when his stomach rumbled and continued his explanation.

“From what I know, male sirens aren’t common at all. I didn’t even know they existed for real, actually. But the tales say they’re very powerful.”

“Tales?”

“From sailors,” Hanamaki nodded. “Since sirens live at the edge of the sea.”

It made a lot of sense, put this way. Iwaizumi took note of the new lead Hanamaki had given him and waited for the other to go on.

“Also,” the changeling prompted, one eyebrow raised. “Sounds are nothing more than vibrations of the air. If his voice is the problem, as a druid you should be able to figure something out.”

“That’s the issue, I’m not a mage, I have no power over the elements,” Iwaizumi groaned, angrily biting into his slice of bread.

“I thought that air was nature, though?” Hanamaki replied with a smirk.

Oikawa’s voice echoed in the other’s mind. _You’re pretty much magic yourself, since you’re a druid._

He leant back in the shadows to conceal his face. “It’s not as simple.”

“Sounds like you don’t want it to be simple, to me,” the changeling insisted, studying the other.

_Do you think it’d cure me if you kissed me?_

“Hanamaki, I swear, you’re the worst,” Iwaizumi growled between his teeth, very aware of the blush on his cheeks.

The other gave him a once over, not bothering to hold back his grin.

“This is the best compliment you’ve ever made me so far.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea that I needed changeling!Hanamaki in my life but I did T^T ♡ He'll definitely have a part of this series for himself at some point! But other characters might steal the spotlight first...


	8. A silver lining

Oikawa heard the door open downstairs and rolled his eyes with a loud sigh. Iwaizumi had been missing for three days and in the meantime the bard had had to deal with the other’s visitors. It sounded easy, put this way, but since he couldn’t actually talk to people and some of them couldn’t read, communication hadn’t been the easiest thing. He was pretty sure that a gnome had tried to curse him at some point.

He flicked a look out the window, his gaze briefly getting lost in the shades of pink and purple that coloured the sky. It was already late. Whoever had just entered would probably have to spend the night at the house with him.

Great.

Hopefully they didn’t require immediate attention from the druid, else Oikawa would either have to improvise something from what he had learnt from Iwaizumi, or he would have to find the best place to dig a hole before the other returned.

With another sigh, he pried himself from the stool he was sitting on and made his way downstairs, trading his annoyed expression for something endearing when he reached the top of the stairs.

The mask slipped as soon as he saw Iwaizumi dropping his bag on the round table, exhausted like he hadn’t stopped walking for the whole time he had been away.

“Iwaizumi Hajime, where the  _ fuck _ have you been?!” he greeted his friend who sent him a weary glare that read something along the lines of  _ I’m too tired to deal with you _ . “I was worried sick!” the bard still continued, rushing over to Iwaizumi.

The druid dropped onto a stool and kicked his boots off, barely looking at the other.

“I left you a note, haven’t you found it?” he asked, a bit harsher than he had intended to sound.

Oikawa stood in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest slowly, eyebrows furrowed into a scowl.

“You mean the one that said ‘I’m visiting a friend, I’ll be back in a few days.’? Yeah, I found it,” the bard confirmed dryly, glaring at the other. “I found it in the afternoon because someone had thought that pining it to the back of the door was a good idea.”

In front of him, Iwaizumi’s expression faltered. His face paled and his eyes widened as he looked up to meet the other’s eyes.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ . For a moment I thought you had had enough and you had run away. And then I thought the worst: what if you had actually left to pick more mushrooms? I swear if you have any in your bag I’m kicking you out, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa rambled without departing from his accusatory face.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when Iwaizumi realised that the other wasn’t really angry at him, he shoved him away with a weary smile.

“I was trying to find a solution to your problem,” the druid eventually explained when Oikawa started piling up food in front of him — Iwaizumi realised he was starving. “I visited a friend of mine, a changeling who lives beyond the mountain. Rumors travel fast among feys and he’s got a foot in both worlds so I figured he may have info about sirens.”

“And?” the other asked, scooping soup from the cauldron for both of them.

“And I may have a lead. He told me that male sirens were extremely rare and that it may be why we don’t have much information. He thinks sailors might be our best shot, so on my way back I went to Kita to ask him if he knew any.”

Oikawa stared at him expectantly, drinking his words, bowls of soup already forgotten in his hands.

“Does he?” he croaked, his voice full of fragile hope.

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “There’s one that might be able to help us. He’ll try and contact him and we’ll meet him at the port. We’re leaving tomorrow so pack your stuff tonight," he grinned, so radiant that Oikawa was drawn to him like a moth to a flame — like a sailor to a siren.

“Is this real or are you secretly planning to murder me?” the bard laughed nervously.

He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t dare. Iwaizumi had found a way to help him. He really had.

“I haven’t decided on the details yet,” the druid teased.

His eyes shone with a mix of joy and mischief that made them sparkle as they reflected the flames. Oikawa felt himself sink deeper. He closed the distance between them and put the bowls on the table, his eyes never leaving the other’s as he slid Iwaizumi’s soup toward him.

“Here,” he said in a breath. “I missed you.”

The druid brushed it off with a soft laugh, the pride radiating from him and the warmth in his eyes more eloquent than words could be.

* * *

The last hues of orange were only fading in the sky when Oikawa and Iwaizumi left the cabin behind them. The druid had protected his place with thorns to fend off intruders and an old white wolf stood by the door, a messenger to tell visitors Iwaizumi was away for some time.

Their journey to Edo and its port would take them one week at best, two if they took their time, but both travelers were used to long walks. They would take breaks for food and to rest and they would walk until they couldn’t take it anymore.

They travelled side by side, exchanging stories or basking in a comforting silence. Sometimes Oikawa would catch Iwaizumi limping and call it a day before sunset, sometimes he would follow the druid into the night, guided by the stars twinkling above them. Iwaizumi did the same with him, his fingers brushing the small of Oikawa’s back in a silent request for a break whenever the bard remained quiet for too long.

It was summer and nature was alive both at day and at night, buzzing with sounds and swarming with mosquitoes whenever the two got too close to water bodies. Beautiful and annoying, in short.

About the third day, Iwaizumi called a halt in the middle of a meadow far from the main path. There were flower petals swirling around them, caught in the strong wind. Hanamaki’s words hadn’t left the druid, haunting him as much as his dreams did.

Iwaizumi listened to the sounds around them to stop the flow of thoughts — he could swear the pines were laughing at him.

“You know, I think you were right,” Iwaizumi eventually gave in, immediately getting the other’s attention.

He cut off Oikawa’s smug expression with a warning glare before the bard could say a word.

Standing in front of the druid in a dusty cloak, hair disheveled and cheeks sunburnt, he shouldn’t have been so attractive. And yet there he was, the pout on his lips that should have been stupid only making him look more adorable in Iwaizumi’s eyes.

His heart picked up ridiculously, words heavy on his tongue as the bard grew more curious.

“A-About the kiss,” Iwaizumi faltered, flinching at his own lack of confidence. He cleared his throat to regain some composure. “Air is nature, and I’m a druid… I think it’s worth a try.”

In front of him, Oikawa’s face froze in surprise. He didn’t move for so long that Iwaizumi felt his cheeks heat up. Now that was embarrassing. Why had he even thought— 

“I have to ask,” Oikawa prompted, and Iwaizumi’s eyes immediately found his — his gaze was so intense it was hardly readable. “Is this only the druid talking?”

Iwaizumi swallowed nervously. “Not only.”

Oikawa closed the distance between them in a few strides to stand in the other’s space. He placed his hand on the druid’s waist, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his shirt. Iwaizumi’s rested on his elbow, keeping him close when a lifetime ago it took a miracle for people to remain with Oikawa for more than a few minutes.

“I thought you wanted to give me a choice,” Oikawa breathed, eyes slowly tracing Iwaizumi’s features.

“I am. I’m going to get rid of your siren curse. You will be able to leave and travel the world and never come back if that’s what you want.”

_ It doesn’t mean I want you to _ , Iwaizumi refused to add.

“But you still want to kiss me?” Oikawa asked.

His fingers slipped under the linen fabric, brushing Iwaizumi’s hip and the druid wondered just how much self control he had left.

He caressed Oikawa’s jaw in return, fingertips following the line to his nape, pulling him in.

“I think it’s worth a try,” he repeated, only now it had another meaning.

_ Worth a try _ . Oikawa tasted the last word on his lips when Iwaizumi finally closed the remaining distance between them — it tasted like hope and future, a sweet flavor he could easily become accustomed to.

He found himself expecting it to work, that his voice would magically stop pushing people away, that the skin of his back would be smooth and even.

Iwaizumi’s grip on him tightened, trapping him like claws, keeping him close. It left both of them out of breath when they pulled apart. Iwaizumi’s fingers brushed his hair again, staying there, his gaze full of so many emotions that Oikawa lost himself in it.

“Did it work?” the bard asked out loud.

The light in Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered and Oikawa knew the answer.

“It’s fine,” the druid whispered between them.

His eyes fell to the other’s mouth again. Oikawa pressed another kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips. He didn’t mind either.

* * *

Days passed, followed by nights spent on the road or close to a campfire, and soon sprays of sea breeze filled the air, informing the two men that they were approaching the coast and their destination.

Soon they would be settled on Oikawa’s fate. They could go home with a solution or the siren blood would remain a mystery for who knew how much longer. Iwaizumi refused to think that he would face failure in such a wide town connected by sea to the rest of the world.

He glanced at Oikawa’s sleepy form, his silhouette standing out in backlight against the fire near them. The cavern they had found was safe and kept them from the rain that had started to pour a few hours ago, but it was also humid and smelt of guano from the bats living farther down. It was annoying but he had also bribed the creatures into sounding the alarm if anything or anyone were to approach their shelter.

That was the good thing about being a druid. Iwaizumi and Oikawa could sleep full nights without having to keep watch in turns. All that Iwaizumi had to do was to summon plants to hide them and charge the local fauna to guard their backs.

They still lit a fire every night to be safe, and when the weather was as bad as it was on that night it was a nice addition.

In front of him, Oikawa’s eyes blinked open, lucid and awake. He hadn’t been able to sleep either. They stared at each other for a few seconds, studying the other. A chill ran down Iwaizumi’s spine and his brows furrowed.

“Roll over,” he told the bard, and immediately Oikawa obeyed.

He slipped closer to him, pressing his face against his back and finding comfort in the sweet warmth it had collected from the flames.

“Are you cold?” Oikawa asked softly.

Iwaizumi only moved closer, getting away from the dripping wall. Maybe he was, just a bit, but he was tired.

He hoped he wasn’t getting sick.

“”kay. Get closer to the fire,” Oikawa continued in the same low voice.

He moved over and Iwaizumi opened an eye at the sudden loss of contact. His eyes followed the bard as he lay down farther away in front of the fire so that Iwaizumi could feel the heat from the flames as well.

The druid glared at him, resentful. An irritated huff escaped his lips and Oikawa sat up to look at him. Iwaizumi kept on glaring, this time at the ceiling.

A laugh, bright and warmer than the fire came from the bard who resolved to move back to the other. He took back his place between the flames and the druid, eyes shining playfully as they met the other’s gaze.

“If you wanted to cuddle with me, all you had to do was to ask,” he declared cheekily.

“Shut up” was the only reply he got.

Another chuckle passed his lips and Oikawa wrapped an arm around Iwaizumi, crawling closer until he could fit his leg between the other’s. Once he was in a comfortable enough position, he let out a satisfied breath and closed his eyes, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Iwaizumi’s eyes never left his face. It was just the two of them, sheltered from the outside world by a curtain of rain. It was familiar, comforting, and Iwaizumi wondered if he could get used to being on his own again after so many months spent in Oikawa’s company.

He reached out, fingers brushing Oikawa’s face, knuckles tracing his cheekbones, thumb highlighting the curve of his lips.

A smile bloomed on Oikawa’s face and he opened his eyes again, meeting a dark green gaze that didn’t reflect the flames but still shone like the night sky. It was so intense that it made Oikawa lightheaded; it was so warm that it made his heart flutter.

“Iwa-chan—” he started.

“Hush,” Iwaizumi cut him off in a whisper.

He propped himself up on his elbow, his palm resting lightly on Oikawa’s cheek, and leant closer to kiss him one more time.


	9. Rendez-vous with a legend

It had taken longer than planned but there they were, facing the main doors to the capital. In spite of the rain that was still pouring down — rainy season be damned — Edo brimmed with life. The main avenues buzzed with sea nymphs and dwarves and knives not afraid of getting soaked; narrow alleys eyed the tourists greedily, never losing their track, waiting for them to get close enough.

Wrapped in his muddy cloak, Oikawa let out a frustrated groan — from now on, it was out of the question for him to speak. He still knew how to make himself heard, though.

Iwaizumi flicked him a quick look, a worried frown on his face.

“Don’t stray away. This place is not safe and I’m not looking for you if you get kidnapped and sold to whatever kingdom,” the druid warned — Oikawa’s lips pursed into a pout, followed by a raised eyebrow.

Apparently, he wasn’t fully convinced.

The druid gave him another once over, only then noticing the dark stains on his friend’s cheeks and the leaves still stuck in his hair. He scrunched up his nose with a disgusted expression, ignoring the offended look that Oikawa immediately adopted.

“You should look at yourself,” the bard mouthed in reply.

Iwaizumi didn’t doubt he was in the same state, if not worse. There was no way they could go to their rendez-vous with the sailor looking like mendiants.

Fortunately enough for the two travelers, they had reached their destination in the morning, giving them time to drop by an inn and make themselves more presentable. Iwaizumi led them through the streets, eyes scanning the buildings to find one desert enough for Oikawa to go unnoticed. He wanted one that wasn’t too crowded without being shady, and it turned out to be more difficult to find than expected.

The first one they entered was dark and filled with whispers. As soon as they opened the door, all eyes fell on them and conversations stopped. Oikawa didn’t waste time bargaining with his friend to get out of there. He grabbed him by the arm with a sheepish smile in direction of the attendance and dragged the druid out, almost running to get away from the cutthroat.

“I’m picking the next one,” he declared to the other under his breath.

He regretted his decision half an hour later when, faces flushed, the two of them closed the door of a brothel in haste.

“I’m never trusting you again,” the druid growled, fingers laced around Oikawa’s wrist as they rushed through street after street.

By the time they found a place that didn’t look too odd from the outside, it was already past noon and the two of them were starving. They stopped by an old-looking shop with a sign so worn out that it was almost unreadable, deterred, and decided that it would be this one or none at all. It was hidden between two narrow alleys, not far from the main streets. Better than nothing.

As soon as they entered, Iwaizumi knew that the wheel of fortune had turned and luck was back on their side. A familiar face stared at him from behind the counter, reflecting the surprise that showed on the druid’s face.

“Oh, Iwaizumi!” the man declared, a casual smile greeting the two men. “Didn’t expect to see ya here.”

The druid smiled back, tension releasing from his body, and he pulled Oikawa inside the inn, unaware of the bard’s confused gaze.

“Osamu. I didn’t know you had moved to Edo. This is Oikawa Tooru, by the way. Sorry, he can’t really talk right now,” he added with a warning glance at his companion who only glared back at him. “Long story.”

The man greeted Oikawa with a polite nod as the travelers sat down in front of him and ordered some food for their starving selves. As they ate their first hot meal in two weeks, Miya Osamu told them how he had moved from his small town far down south to Edo after King Aran had offered him a position as his personal chef on Kita’s recommendation. Unwilling to live in the castle — “ _ I don’t fit among toffs. _ ” — Osamu had chosen to open a small tavern in the capital. It was very recent, he was still working on making the whole building something worth going to, but he already had a faithful clientele coming to him.

When he added that his twin brother had used the opportunity to move out with him, Iwaizumi winced, the sudden movement just enough for his companion to catch the odd reaction.

Oikawa thought that he had slipped just right into Iwaizumi’s life, squeezing room for himself until he had become a part of it. He had grown used to people visiting them in their cabin in the woods, he had learnt their names and what they came for. He could have befriended them, hadn’t his voice been an obstacle.

And yet there he was, starting all over again in Edo, watching Iwaizumi chat with people he knew, unable to contribute to the conversation — and Gods knew he had questions. Who exactly was this Osamu guy and how had they met the first time? Who was his brother whose mention had pulled such a strange reaction out of the druid?

The name Atsumu rang a bell but Oikawa couldn’t tell where he had heard it before. He didn’t have time to ask his friend when they moved to their shared room. Iwaizumi pushed him into a washroom with a bunch of fresh clothes before he could say anything, ordering him to make himself presentable. It was only later that Oikawa learnt who the sailor they were going to meet was and his excitation made him forget everything about the twin brothers.

“The guy is called Nishinoya,” Iwaizumi started, and immediately the bard’s eyes lit up like a child’s.

“You mean  _ the  _ Nishinoya?” he asked in a hushed tone, struggling to keep his voice low. “Nishinoya Yuu, conqueror of the seven seas? You’re telling me this is the man we’re gonna meet today?”

There were moments when Iwaizumi forgot that more than being a siren-blood, Oikawa was a bard above all, a man who learnt and told tales from other lands and beyond, travelling to share legends with other people.

He nodded proudly, a grin forming on his lips. “The very one.”

“I can’t believe it,” Oikawa uttered again, eyes wide. “Iwa-chan, I could kiss you right now,” he continued, laughing when the druid raised an amused eyebrow.

He was so full of happiness and hope and love that he would have combusted on the spot, hadn’t Osamu knocked on their door to remind them they had to leave soon if they wanted to catch the sailor in time.

“Do you know where we can find his boat?” Iwaizumi asked on their way out, a concerned frown on his face.

Osamu only smirked, almost laughing at the question. “Trust me, there’s no way you can miss it.”

When the pair reached the port and were faced with the biggest junk they had ever seen, they knew that the chef hadn’t lied. They recognized the boat at first glance; it was unmistakable, extravagant and flamboyant and everything that Nishinoya was known to be.

The sails were folded but even creatures with the worst eyesight wouldn’t have been able to miss their bright orange radiance. On the equally flashy hull, near the figurehead of a raven-winged woman, the word “freedom” was engraved in a very neat calligraphy.

Oikawa whistled at the sight and Iwaizumi sent him a careful glance, torn between hope, joy, amusement, and worry. Whoever this Nishinoya was, he was their best shot to find a cure for the siren blood. If he ended up unable to help them…

The bard nudged Iwaizumi, giving him a pout that was probably supposed to look like a scowl. He nodded firmly and Iwaizumi imitated the gesture.

Oikawa was right, it would be okay.

* * *

Nishinoya, conqueror of the seven seas… He was a living legend, a man whose name made everyone dreamy, humans and nymphs and dwarves alike. Oikawa had heard a lot about him — the man was younger than him and he had already achieved so much!

Nishinoya probably was the most admired man alive, and there were many reasons for it. He had sailed the seven seas, bringing resources from countries never heard of before. He had battled creatures that used to fill nightmares and were only referred to in old myths.

His reputation had reached even the most remote places of the globe, and Oikawa was going to meet him, the man he knew from tales and songs. He imagined him to be intimidating, a buff guy radiating pride and confidence, a giant that everybody bowed to. People had to step aside whenever he walked down a street, struck by his aura.

“We’re here to meet Nishinoya. Tell him Kita sent us,” Iwaizumi apostrophized a long-haired sailor, popping Oikawa’s bubble of admiration.

The man jumped at the druid’s voice. He eyed the strangers in a curious way and offered them the most nervous smile Oikawa had ever seen on someone as they climbed on board.

“Oh, he’s already waiting for you in his cabin,” the sailor said.

His gaze never left the two men as they walked past him and approached the captain’s cabin.

“Remember, don’t slip up,” Iwaizumi reminded his friend without looking back, his hand on the door.

Oikawa huffed — couldn’t Iwaizumi have at least a little faith in him from time to time?

He frowned when the druid cracked a smile, flicking him a glance. As soon as he pushed on the door, all of the bard’s attention drifted to the captain’s quarters.

The room was huge, bigger than Oikawa had thought it would be. A simple bed stood under the windows that overlooked the sea. Everywhere the bard’s eyes lingered, rows of golden treasures lined the walls in the form of cups, leather-bound grimoires and small chests. In the middle of the room was a table where a map spread, hand-sketched on thin parchment.

“You’re Iwaizumi, right?” a child said, jumping from his seat to greet the druid.

He extended his hand to the other, a toothy grin on display. The air around him was literally buzzing with energy, as if he were casting a spell at all times.

Oikawa looked around, his brows furrowing when he didn’t find anyone else in the room.

“Nice to meet you,” the kid continued, his smile getting fiercer by the second. “I’m Nishinoya Yuu. I heard you’ve been looking for me!”

Time froze.

Oikawa’s head snapped toward the child — no, not a child, the  _ captain _ — and his jaw dropped.

“Are you kidding me?!” he exclaimed before he could even think.

The sailor flinched, his amber eyes turning abyss dark when he set them on the siren-blood. His hand still in his, Iwaizumi froze, sending an alarmed look to his friend — oh, no, nevermind, it was a glare.

“What?” Nishinoya growled, his bright aura turned into a threatening storm. “Come on, speak your mind. You thought I couldn’t be the sailor all the tales praise, right? Were you expecting someone  _ taller _ ?” he continued, the last word almost dripping from his mouth like venom.

In front of him, Oikawa couldn’t help but take a step back. The legendary captain may have been small in height, he had the soul of a great man, in every sense of the word. He had sliced a kraken into pieces and cooked it for dinner, from what the stories said…

“Excuse him, he has no clue how social interactions work,” Iwaizumi quickly apologized on the other’s behalf, much to Oikawa’s indignation. “Respect is beyond his capacities. Actually, he’s the reason why we wanted to meet you,” the druid continued.

He too had been stunned by Nishinoya’s appearance but it was a secret that would be buried with him. What he was curious about, however, was the fact the sailor didn’t seem to be very affected by the sound of Oikawa’s voice.

He sent the bard a pointed look before he turned to Nishinoya again.

“You’ve got sirens in your family, don’t you?” the short one immediately asked, smirking when Oikawa’s eyes widened.

The sailor flicked a look at the man’s clothes and laughed openly, teasing.

“And you went for bard? You didn’t pick the easy path, did you? Anyway! How can I help you?”

“Is it okay if he—” Iwaizumi started before Oikawa cut him off, a slight frown on his forehead.

“Just how much do you know about sirens?” he hazarded.

The sailor’s smile spread wider, a defiant glimmer shining in his eyes.

“Enough to know their voices barely affect me, as you can see.”

He was bold and didn’t hold back. Oikawa already liked him.

“Well, speaking of… Do you know why it has this effect on people? My voice, I mean. The siren in my family dates back from generations ago and my mom and sister never got any kind of problems with it.”

He stopped his sentence abruptly, his face going pale when he saw Iwaizumi waver beside him. Immediately, Oikawa reached out. He wrapped an arm around the druid’s shoulders to keep him on his feet, apologies that Iwaizumi quickly brushed off in his eyes.

“You should sit down,” their host advised, pointing at the bed as he took three cups from his shelves and blew the dust off them.

He grabbed a dirty-looking cloth to wipe them and pulled a bottle of rum from under his mattress to serve his guests.

“Is there a way to break the curse?” Iwaizumi asked between clenched teeth when the room stopped spinning around him.

He was still feeling dizzy but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was on a boat or because of his friend’s voice.

This time he hadn’t had a vision of his land burnt to the ground. Instead, he had seen Oikawa looking down at him, wings in his back and feathers on his skin, a horrified expression distorting his features. Deep down Iwaizumi had known the siren would leave him there alone and never come back.

“It’s not a curse,” the sailor declared, bringing the druid back to reality.

Oikawa squeezed his shoulder and Iwaizumi remembered the bard hadn’t let go of him. The mattress under them was so hard he still had the impression of being on the ground. His mind and his senses were giving contrasting signals, making him dizzy.

He flicked a look at Oikawa — he was studying him closely, even though Nishinoya was about to give them precious information. Iwaizumi grabbed his cup of rum and gulped the liquid down without another thought.

“What is it, then?” he prompted, taking his attention off the bard at the cost of a great effort.

Nishinoya dropped back onto his seat as he turned to them, sitting cross-legged on his chair.

“Genetics,” he said with a shrug. “It’s because you’re a man, actually. Male sirens are very rare so that’s why not much is known about them.”

Oikawa’s brows furrowed deeply as he bit back the urge to tell Nishinoya that yes, he already knew that.

“Other members of your family may not be affected but you got the bad genes. Besides, male sirens are more powerful and their pull is different,” Nishinoya continued, the story casting a spell on the two men in facing him — there was something in his confidence that assured them the sailor knew what he was talking about. “As you know, female sirens lead boats to crash on rocks by attracting them with their songs. Male sirens, on the other hand, drive sailors crazy by digging up their deepest fears. They don’t need to attract them closer, the crew will jump overboard if it can take them away from the sirens.”

A short and yet heavy silence settled in the room as the information sank in. Oikawa was the one to break it.

“Has it ever happened to you?” he asked, looking the sailor in the eyes.

Nishinoya tensed up, his smile fading into a dark expression. There was a challenge weaved into the amber of his eyes, but it wasn’t directed toward his guests. Nishinoya defied fate and myths.  _ He _ was the legend who rewrote the tales.

“Once,” he admitted after a short moment, more serious than he had been so far. “But I managed to keep my crew on board.”

* * *

The two companions spent the whole afternoon with the sailor, trying to come up with theories to explore in order to help Oikawa tune down the power of his blood. The more time passed, the darker the bard’s expression became.

He didn’t like the turn that the conversation had taken. He wanted to get rid of this curse, not to simply learn how to live with it. He had spent over twenty years doing precisely that and he was done with it.

He didn’t care that Nishinoya called it genetics — a pain in the ass was a pain in the ass, no matter what other label you put on it. Oikawa had had enough, he wanted a normal life. He wanted to start living, finally. Iwaizumi was right, he may find solace in the fact the druid was an exception he could live together with, but what Oikawa needed was to be free to live his life like he intended to.

Iwaizumi had promised him just that. Nishinoya didn’t understand the immense difference it made.

Oikawa would earn his independence. He would earn his future.

“You don’t really like him, do you?” the druid joked, bumping Oikawa’s shoulder on their way back to the tavern after a too long silence.

“I think he’s a great sailor and a powerful man,” the bard answered. “But he didn’t give me the key I was looking for. I… I don’t want to simply tune it down, Iwa-chan. I want to turn it off. Permanently.”

When Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi, the druid’s breath hitched in his throat as if he had been punched. There was only an amount of suffering that someone could carry, but the one he read in Oikawa’s eyes was far too high for a single person. It was haunting.

“Actually, I have an idea how to do that,” Iwaizumi said carefully, studying Oikawa’s expression as he spoke. “So far I’ve been trying to lessen the effect of your voice, but now that we know it’s not just a curse… I think what we need is to completely inhibit the magic in your veins.”

The bard nodded slowly, waiting for the rest of the explanation. He could almost hear the gears turning in Iwaizumi’s brain.

“Is there a way to do it for good?” he insisted, noting the way Iwaizumi stiffened at the question.

“I need to ask Kita and Hanamaki but I have a theory,” Iwaizumi confirmed.

He was holding back. There was a light in his eyes, shining like worry and pain, that Oikawa couldn’t quite explain.

“If I’m right, it’s going to be very risky,” Iwaizumi continued.

Oikawa didn’t falter.

“For whom?”

“For you.”

“Then let’s do it.”

He pushed the door to the inn as Iwaizumi froze, a scowl on his face. It faded as soon as the druid noticed Osamu was no longer alone inside, his expression turning into a mix of horror and resignation.

Iwaizumi smiled, tired, and followed Oikawa inside. That was going to be one long and headache-inducing night.

“Hajime! Here you are!” a sonorous voice greeted him as a man jumped off his stool to join him in a few strides.

It was Oikawa’s turn to freeze. His whole body tensed when the guy — Osamu’s twin brother, judging by their identical faces — hooked an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck and dragged him back to the counter.

“What are you doing here?” the druid asked, raising an eyebrow as he proceeded to shove the guy’s arm off him and sat down beside him.

“I’m coming back from a quest. I was going to visit ‘Samu when I walked into Kita and he told me ya were around.”

He sent a brief glance at Oikawa still stuck in place as if turned into stone and flashed him a grin.

“Who’s that friend of yours? I don’t remember seeing him before.”

Oikawa studied the other briefly, his face unreadable. Iwaizumi and he looked like they had known each other for a lifetime. They sat close to each other, exchanging facts and memories, catching up on each other’s life as Osamu barely paid attention. It was just the two of them in their bubble of nostalgia and the thought made something clench in Oikawa’s chest.

“Don’t be fooled by his light behaviour,” a voice intervened beside him, making him jump.

Kita suppressed a smile, something fierce — pride? — in his eyes when his gaze met the bard’s. Oikawa hadn’t even noticed he was there.

“Atsumu is the best knight in the kingdom,” the small druid continued. “King Aran values him more than any other and he earned his reputation. He saved Iwaizumi’s life a few years ago, too.”

Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat when realisation hit him. Atsumu. The knight Iwaizumi had travelled with some years ago.

His eyes fell on the druid’s biceps where he knew a deep scar was hidden under the white linen, unnoticeable. It all made sense, now.

The knight followed his gaze, his eyebrows lifting slightly when he realised that Oikawa knew about the story. He turned back to Iwaizumi, surprised, falling uncharacteristically silent for a few seconds.

Oikawa used the diversion to join them at the counter. He sat down beside Iwaizumi, smiling sweetly at Atsumu, and caught Osamu’s attention to get a drink. He didn’t have to wait for long.

Osamu slid a large mug toward him, filled to the brim. He then placed a pile of wax tablets and a stylus beside it, pointing at the other two with his chin.

“If you can’t speak, at least make sure to shut ‘Tsumu up with this. He doesn’t know when to stop talkin’.”

The gratefulness that washed over Oikawa at that instant knew no bounds. So did the despair in the deep sigh Iwaizumi let out.

The druid glared at Osamu who smirked back at him, proud of himself. If Atsumu was chaotic himself, Osamu often was the chaos enabler.

The night was indeed long and noisy, but it was filled with a delicious mix of laughters and taunts that Iwaizumi didn’t regret one second. He could put up with Atsumu’s blatant flirt and Oikawa’s obvious jealousy for one night. He wanted to enjoy the light atmosphere as long as he could.

Embarrassing adventures were brought into conversations — Iwaizumi’s and Atsumu’s alike — as well as a fair lot of fond memories. By dawn, the knight and the bard had traded polite smiles for barely veiled threats that neither really meant.

No longer paying attention to Atsumu’s soliloquies and the frenetic sound of Oikawa carving wax, Iwaizumi took Kita apart to share his thoughts and concerns with him. Kita only confirmed his fears.

“If you want it to be permanent, you need to inhibit the magic within him as well as get rid of anything that might cause a relapse. You can’t allow anything induced by his powers to remain,” he insisted again, his face grave.

Iwaizumi ran a hand over his face, exhausted. He thanked the other druid and went back to his seat, pushing the two quarrelling men to make room for himself between them.

Atsumu fell quiet for a short second when Iwaizumi absentmindedly reached for Oikawa’s hand. Oikawa started slightly, casting a curious and almost alarmed look on the druid. In their silent conversation, they didn’t notice that Atsumu was studying them, every little detail shedding light on the nature of their bond.

The knight let out a resigned sigh and a softer smile bloomed on his lips.

“Ya should go to bed, Hajime. If you want I can escort ya up North for a few days.”

Iwaizumi looked in the direction of the window where a golden light was starting to cast rays in the room. Dust sparkled in the air, a pretty spectacle that contrasted with the knowledge that however high the price to his freedom would be, Oikawa wouldn’t think twice about paying it. And it was Iwaizumi’s fault. He was the one who had told him he would find a way to help him.

Now that he had, Iwaizumi wasn’t completely sure he wanted to take the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one iconic quote from Victor Hugo's les Misérables that stuck with me. This one, about Gavroche: "Cette petite grande âme venait de s'envoler" ("That great little soul had taken flight."). It was the feeling I wanted Nishinoya to give off, a great little man, an adventurer, the Sinbad of this story.


	10. Iwaizumi's worst fear

The journey back to Iwaizumi’s cabin passed faster than their way to Edo. Atsumu kept them company for half of the time, teasing Oikawa every chance he got. After the second day only, the bard couldn’t take it anymore. He blurted out a few words, finding out in the process that Atsumu was, like most people, not immune to the sound of his voice. Worse, he was more sensible than most. With one sentence only, Oikawa managed to reduce the King’s best knight to a panting mess.

After that moment, Atsumu stopped underestimating the bard, and Oikawa tried to be more careful around him. He was a dear friend of Iwaizumi. A stupid rivalry wasn’t worth putting Atsumu in serious danger. Besides, Oikawa could recognize a skilled swordsman when there was one standing in front of him, and Atsumu definitely was.

As soon as the knight left them to go back to his mission, Iwaizumi fell quiet, swallowed once more by his silent dilemma. Oikawa couldn’t bear the painful frown on his face.

“Tell me what the matter is,” he ordered in a voice that left no room for protest. “You’ve been all weird since that night at the inn. What are you hiding from me?”

Iwaizumi jumped slightly, his shoulders tensing immediately after.

“I told you my theory was risky,” he said simply, looking Oikawa in the eyes as he spoke. “Truth is, it’s not even risky, it’s more than that. Even if I do everything correctly, there’s a chance you might not survive.”

He let the words sink in, watching Oikawa’s expression switch from shock to reflection to a solid determination he didn’t like on him.

“But if I survive, I’ll be able to live a normal life? I’ll be able to talk to people and be an actual bard, won’t I?”

He had already made his mind. There was not even the shadow of a doubt on his face and it drove Iwaizumi absolutely mad in a fraction of a second.

“Did you even listen to me?” he roared, grabbing Oikawa by the shoulders. “I’m telling you there’s a high risk of you dying! Don’t tell me you’d rather be dead than be satisfied with what you already have?”

Oikawa didn’t waver in front of his wrath. He smiled, soft and sad, his thumb brushing the druid’s cheek in a tender gesture — he was tense, though, Iwaizumi could tell.

“I know you won’t let me die just like that, Iwa-chan. I believe in you.”

The druid pushed him away, staring at him with a mix of shock and rage.

“Are you stupid? I’m telling you you might die! I won’t be able to do anything about it!”

He was the one who had first told Oikawa that his freedom was the most important thing, that he wouldn’t let him be satisfied with what he had and that he had to do things until the end. He had never regretted words more than these ones.

Iwaizumi’s whole body started shaking uncontrollably. When Oikawa approached him, Iwaizumi took a step back. The druid gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching painfully.

“I refuse to lose you this way,” he declared in a breath.

Oikawa grabbed him by the wrist. He pulled him into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck.

“You won’t. You’re a great druid and you have all my trust. And I’m not planning to die before I can tell you everything I want without fear of you jumping by the window.”

“You’re the most stupid and stubborn man I’ve ever met,” Iwaizumi opposed.

Oikawa laughed. It was tensed but it was soft; it was a sound the druid wasn’t willing to ever let go of.

Since Oikawa refused to step back in front of the risk, there was only one path left. Failing was not an option. Thus, Iwaizumi involved the most skilled people he knew when it came to magic and potion-making — he couldn’t leave anything to chance.

It took them two months in total. Two months of preparation, two months of yelling his frustration out at night and two months of clinging to hope by its last tiny shred.

Iwaizumi had requested Kita’s help and Hanamaki’s knowledge of the fae realm. He had used plants that didn’t grow in their part of the world and brewed them with sea water coming from the farthest oceans and dust from the highest cliffs. He had taken blood from the most important person in his life and had used it in all the forms he could. He had pretended he didn’t wake up in a jolt every night Oikawa talked in his sleep, the ghosts of his nightmares still haunting him as slumber slowly wore off.

The scorched land was a far off memory. His worst fear had changed, and the fact it might become real was almost driving Iwaizumi crazy.

All the while, Oikawa had been patient, checking on the progress from time to time, his faith in Iwaizumi never once faltering. He had pretended not to see the way the druid lost sleep or to notice the empty room beside him in the bed every time he opened his eyes.

He would never have trusted anyone else with his life and he knew that Iwaizumi would do everything it would take to help him. He was convinced he wouldn’t fail, and if Iwaizumi’s certitudes crumbled from time to time, Oikawa was ready to believe for the both of them.

Two months later, a purple potion swirled in a vial, black spots like ashes floating in the substance, glistening under sunlight.

* * *

Iwaizumi stared at the potion in disbelief, a mix of excitation and fear battling for dominance in his chest. That was it, the potion that was supposed to get rid of Oikawa’s siren blood and allow him to live his life to its fullest was ready. It was warm to the touch; it radiated a power Iwaizumi would never have suspected he could create.

“So this is it, huh?” Hanamaki said, turning the vial, hypnotized by the dark patches that swirled in it. “If it tastes as bad as it smells, Oikawa is going to have a rough time.”

“But he needs to drink all of it,” Kita reminded once more, looking Iwaizumi in the eyes with a grave expression. “To the last drop. Else it might not work.”

And yet the dose makes the poison. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

The potion was a double-edged sword, either a lifesaver or a bringer of death.

The worst was, there was another important step to take before allowing Oikawa to drink it. First, they had to get rid of everything that might interfere with it.

* * *

Iwaizumi swallowed audibly, fear and pain clenching at his guts, suffocating him in its silent grip. In front of him, Oikawa was bare-chested, waiting for the druid’s instruction with a serious expression that left no doubt about the finality of his decision.

“I need to remove all the feathers before you can take the potion, else it might cancel its effects and we’ll have done all this for naught,” the druid explained, throat tight.

He couldn’t imagine the pain Oikawa was about to go through — he refused to, else he might very well run away for good, just as Oikawa had feared when he had first stepped into the cabin a lifetime ago. Iwaizumi hadn’t become a druid to inflict pain, he had become one to cure people, and even if he knew that this was a necessary step, the blow was hard. The sheer idea made him nauseous.

Still, he refused to let anyone else help him. He refused to force Oikawa to show so much vulnerability in front of others. This was his promise, a pact forged between the two of them, strengthened by their trust in each other.

Iwaizumi breathed in, breathed out. He let his eyes meet the bard’s.

“Do you… Do you have more anywhere else on your body?” he asked, feeling his face heat up at the question.

Oikawa froze, his eyes widening in slow motion as the words sank in. Eventually, a crooked smile spread on his lips, mocking and teasing.

“I don’t but maybe it’s worth checking?”

He yelped when Iwaizumi pinched the skin on his shoulder.

“Oikawa, I’m serious,” the druid continued, voice dry and slightly lower than usual.

The other closed his eyes with a sigh, a small smile playing lightly on his lips. When he looked at Iwaizumi again, his gaze was peaceful, highlighted by an unwavering glimmer of trust.

“I know you are, Iwa-chan, but worrying won’t make it less painful for either of us. Let’s do it. The sooner we start, the faster it’ll be over with.”

Clenching his jaw in anticipation, Iwaizumi nodded. He made Oikawa move aside so that he could place a spare sheet on top of the mattress. The druid’s eyes brushed over his materials as his patient took place, lying face down on the bed they had shared for so many nights.

A pile of fresh cloths lay near Oikawa’s in case Iwaizumi would need them and there were two buckets at the foot of the bed, one empty and one full of lukewarm water. On a stool nearby, the potion was ready, staring at the druid like it called for him to use it. There was a sharp knife beside it, just in case, and a tweezer that Iwaizumi generally used on particularly fragile plants.

He knew that by the end of the day, Oikawa’s fate would be sealed.

Iwaizumi had never wished so much he had the power to go back in time.

He propped his knee on the bed and the mattress sagged under his weight. Iwaizumi ran his hand along Oikawa’s back, making sure to keep it on the skin. The other shivered under his touch before he forced himself to relax.

“There are…” Iwaizumi started. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. “There are wolves guarding the house. Nobody will disturb us, I made sure of it.”

Oikawa hummed a reply, burrowing his face in a pillow. Iwaizumi’s eyes followed the trail of feathers up his spine. It stopped right under the atlas bone, just low enough for it not to be spotted under clothes.

“Are you really sure this is what you want?” the druid asked one last time, his worry clearly audible to the other.

“I trust you with my life, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he found it reassuring.

“I’ll try to make it the most painless I can but I don’t have anything to numb your skin, sorry.”

Oikawa growled, his muscles tensing under Iwaizumi’s palm. “Stop postponing it and start, already.”

For once, Iwaizumi obeyed. He began with the thicker feathers that spread to the bard’s shoulder bones, plucking one after the other until he could see the skin, red and pearling with blood. Oikawa twitched with every feather that Iwaizumi took out but he bravely swallowed his pain.

“Tell me if you want to take a break,” Iwaizumi offered after a moment.

He wiped the skin clean and threw another tacky cloth to the growing pile, refusing to have a look at the bucket beside his ankle.

“Don’t stop. If you do it’ll only be worse when you get back to it,” Oikawa hissed between gritted teeth.

He was right, and so Iwaizumi started working on the thinner feathers, the almost down-like ones that were so soft to the touch.

Both of them remained silent. They didn’t speak, because Iwaizumi held his breath and if Oikawa opened his mouth only screams would come out.

Half an hour passed, and then another one, light and shadows moving slowly in the room. Pain increased as minutes died and by the time Iwaizumi plucked the last feather, Oikawa was whimpering and Iwaizumi mumbled apologies like a mantra, the incessant flow of his words a total contrast with the other’s inability to speak.

“We’re almost there,” the druid murmured, the lump in his throat even thicker than it was when he had started. “Just hold on, we’re almost there. Now I’m gonna pour some of the potion on your back so that the feathers don’t grow back. It’s probably going to burn. A lot. I’m sorry.”

He could barely look at the butchered skin, the result of his own work. There were cuts everywhere, some deeper than others, a lot of which Iwaizumi was sure would leave scars because the potion would prevent them from healing correctly.

Oikawa smothered a moan and both braced themselves when Iwaizumi grabbed the vial beside him. His stomach twisted when he took the cork off.

The liquid fizzled ominously.

Iwaizumi counted to three.

Purple and black spread on the skin, into the wounds, smoking like pure acid.

Oikawa cried out in agony, his back arching and his nails digging into the mattress as he struggled to stay put. It was inhuman, more powerful than his voice had ever been until then, the vision it imposed to the druid’s mind unbearable.

_ Blood staining dirty cloths. Feathers scattered everywhere. An empty bed. Silence. _

Iwaizumi brought his hands to his ears, fighting the urge to run away and the power of the siren’s voice threatening to knock him out.

He kept repeating the same words over and over, as if trying to ward off a demon.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oikawa, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He continued long after Oikawa had stopped screaming.

It was only when the liquid had vanished from sight, completely absorbed, that Iwaizumi allowed himself to shut up. Oikawa was immobile; only the faint shudders that occasionally shook his body assured the druid he hadn’t passed out.

Iwaizumi bent over, his hands resting lightly on the bard’s sides. He pressed a kiss on Oikawa’s shoulder, both an apology and an encouragement.

It took another long moment before the bard gathered the strength to straighten up. He slouched under the pain, pressing himself against Iwaizumi’s steadier body until he had found a completely seated position.

“Are you alright?” the druid asked, catching himself before he passed an arm around Oikawa out of habit.

The other’s head dropped on his shoulder. Oikawa shut his eyes tight. He didn’t tell Iwaizumi that molten magma would be a relief in comparison, that his skin and his bones were on fire and that he was certain he would pass out if he tried standing up in his state.

Instead, he took a deep breath in and allowed himself to relax against the druid. His skin was fresh and his presence warmed his heart. Oikawa was glad that it was just the two of them, he wasn’t sure he would have managed to remain strong if other people had been witnesses to the scene.

He nuzzled his face in the other’s neck, a smile finding its way to his lips when Iwaizumi stroked his hair. He didn’t press Oikawa, but the bard knew there was another step to take, one more obstacle between freedom and him.

He steadied himself and straightened up, feigning not to see the pure terror in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Oikawa wouldn’t have minded staying by his side forever, but he also wanted to be able to talk with him, to share moments with him without having to keep the power in his voice in check. He wanted to be free to love him, if Iwaizumi allowed him.

Oikawa smiled, his grin small but bright and confident, pouring all of his emotions into such a simple expression.

“And now to the hard part,” he declared in a tone that he wanted to keep light.

Iwaizumi remained silent, only nodding, his eyes never leaving Oikawa’s when he passed him the potion. Oikawa knew that look — Iwaizumi was trying to engrave him into his memory, to etch him under his skin.

He had to survive. He couldn’t bear the idea of leaving the druid alone with his thoughts.

He lifted the potion closer to his face. It smelt like mold and sea, like sand and iron, a mix of rotting forest and blood.

His gaze drifted once more to Iwaizumi who was studying him.

The message in his jade eyes was crystal clear:  _ I don’t want to lose him _ . Oikawa wondered when exactly in all these months spent together he had become Iwaizumi’s worst fear.

“Can I get a good luck kiss in case I don’t make it?” the bard joked, but he knew his eyes were serious.

Iwaizumi’s fist closed on the sheets between them.

“You’ll get one when you’re cured,” he huffed, just as much a master of pretending as Oikawa was.

The latter pursed his lips into a pout. The normality of their banter gave him the courage he needed and he brought the decoction to his lips, pinching his nose.

His heart raced in his chest as he inclined the vial.

He braced himself.

“Wait!” Iwaizumi shouted, his voice rolling like thunder.

The druid quickly pushed the potion away, panic getting the better of him. He needed time. He needed more time.

“Wait,” he said again, his voice broken and his eyes bright.

Iwaizumi quickly put the potion back onto the wooden stool, not bothering to look. He closed the distance between Oikawa and him; his lips crashed onto the bard’s, fingers on his neck pulling him in, eager and desperate. He kissed Oikawa like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, like he could lose himself in him. It literally took Oikawa’s breath away.

He brushed Iwaizumi’s arm, eyelids fluttering open when they parted, his heart pounding with so much strength that it seemed to draw him back into the druid’s embrace.

“What was that for?” Oikawa asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“Good luck,” Iwaizumi replied as his hands slided down the other’s arms to rest on his wrists.

In case things went absolutely wrong, he didn’t want the last thing he would have told Oikawa to be refusing him a kiss.

Shakily, the bard reached for the potion again. He brought it to his lips, Iwaizumi’s hand firmly held in his.

If Oikawa had thought he would pass out from the wounds on his back only, drinking the potion was like dying and being revived only to be killed again and again. He lost touch with reality as soon as the potion rolled on his tongue, the only thing he was aware of his body and the vial in his hand.

He had to drink it to the last drop. He didn’t remember what it was, he didn’t remember why he had to do it. It hurt and it burned and he was dissolving from the inside but he knew he had to do it.

Oikawa’s throat was on fire and there was no way he would ever be able to speak again. His body was covered in ashes and embers. Acid ran through his veins. His heart was about to burst.

He wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, he couldn’t take it.

A voice shouted in the distance. Somewhere, a pack of wolves howled.

Everything faded to black.

* * *

Iwaizumi had never been bothered by silence because he had never experienced it fully. All of his childhood had been spent in the woods filled with chirping birds and cracking branches. Even when he had left the company of the other druids to live on his own, he had never encountered a real, total silence… This was the very first time.

Everything was still.

The wolves were quiet, even the wind had died and he could no longer hear the sound of the river passing nearby.

Lying on the bed, Oikawa had stopped moving. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest assured the druid that he was alive, but it was hardly perceptible.

He was pale, paler than he had ever been, the intricate pattern of his veins painting his skin with marbled colours.

Iwaizumi sat down beside him, the coldness coming from Oikawa tightening the vise his heart was trapped in. He extended a shaky hand to the bard’s forehead to push a stray curl out of his eyes; his skin was sticky with sweat.

The druid flicked a look at the empty vial on the mattress. The dose makes the poison. He could only wait, now, and hope that his calculations had been correct.

Iwaizumi took the last clean cloth of the pile and wiped the sweat off Oikawa. Then, he put another blanket on top of him, and he waited.

He could do nothing but wait.

The moon changed shape in the sky, went from a perfect sphere to a shadow before it grew again. Iwaizumi never once left the other’s side — he didn’t want to leave the room and find Oikawa dead on his return.

He charged animals to find him food, bargaining with foxes and trusting rats to bring him edible supplies. He got water from the plants and the fruits he was given. The wolves kept guarding the house; no visitor was allowed in. Not even Kita managed to get past his loyal pack. Not even Kyoutani, whom Kita had talked into checking on Iwaizumi.

His torment lasted three full weeks.

* * *

It was like waking up from a dreamless slumber. His limbs were numb, his chest heavy and his eyelids heavier even. His throat was burning like there was a fire roaring within and he was pretty sure that he would breathe out flames, were he to open his mouth.

Still, Oikawa had the feeling he had made the world wait long enough. And he had the feeling he had waited for the world for long enough, too.

His heart picked up steadily, getting back into work after a long time in a nearly dormant state. Air rushed in his lungs — sharp, burning — when he gasped.

The first impression Oikawa had when he emerged wasn’t the blissful sight of a loved one; it was a weight suddenly lifted off his chest, a coldness taking hold of him, followed by a voice that brought him back to the surface.

Only then did the bard open his eyes.

Iwaizumi was there, hovering over him, voice leaking with an uninterrupted flow of words that had yet to make sense to Oikawa’s mind. He didn’t listen, too focused on the deep furrow of eyebrows, on the watery green that refused to leave him, on the clenched jaw and wobbling lips.

Oikawa smiled. He saw Iwaizumi twitch, fighting back the urge to headbutt him, and he laughed, voice like sandpaper grazing his throat.

“Told you you could do it,” the bard croaked.

He stopped breathing for a short second when Iwaizumi’s weight crushed him and he wrapped his arms around the druid.


	11. Epilogue

If Oikawa’s magic had been totally drained out of him, getting his voice back was a long and painful process. For the first days he could barely speak at all without threatening to cough his lungs out, and when he could finally speak full sentences again, his voice was so out of tune that Oikawa nearly missed his powers.

Fortunately enough, Oikawa was a stubborn man, and he was a stubborn man who took pride in being a bard. Thus, he worked hard to smooth the melody of his voice and to make it appealing again. The songs he sang and the tales he told became hypnotising in his mouth, taking the listeners to other places and other times, making them live the stories as he narrated them. Oikawa’s voice became a powerful weapon, but one that this time he could wield with an almost frightening accuracy. He could control it perfectly, and he pulled on people’s heartstring with the same ease he played his lyre.

Iwaizumi listened, his own chest swelling with pride and admiration — with fondness and love. He had fulfilled the promise he had made; he had given Oikawa a life he would be able to enjoy to its fullest.

Which meant the bard was finally able to travel the world and meet new people and spread new legends, unaware that he was a legend himself.

When it was time for Oikawa to leave, Iwaizumi watched him pack his belongings in silence, swallowing back the bittersweet taste on his tongue. He had gotten what he had come for, there was no longer a reason for the bard to stay with him. He was free.

Oikawa glanced at him from over his bag.

There shouldn’t be a reason.

He walked past the druid who didn’t move, aware of Iwaizumi’s eyes on his back, the light bundle on his shoulder a heavy burden to carry.

“Please, tell me to stay.”

The words slipped out of Oikawa’s mouth. He turned around slowly, dreading Iwaizumi’s reaction, hope and fear making his heart beat against his ribcage.

In front of him, the druid was stiff. He studied him for a moment that lasted an eternity, doubt dancing dangerously in his eyes, before his body relaxed all at once. A fond smile played on Iwaizumi’s lips, welcoming, earnest.

“I guess I could make use of an assistant, as long as you don’t bore people to death with your stories.”

The bag dropped to the floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Oikawa huffed, an unchecked grin ruining his act. “I’m a marvelous storyteller! I’m the best bard you’ll find around!”

“You’re the only bard around,” Iwaizumi pointed out.

“Because all the other bards couldn’t compete and moved away,” Oikawa insisted, placing a hand on his hip in the most theatrical way he could.

Iwaizumi raised a mocking eyebrow, easily slipping back into their familiar dynamic. A weight lifted from his shoulders and he found himself able to breathe normally again.

“Alright mister best bard around, we don’t have anything left to eat so go charm a few mushrooms for our meal, if you please.”

“You know what? I take it back. I can’t stand these conditions, I’m leaving!” Oikawa declared.

His rebellious act dropped when Iwaizumi laughed, the sound so warm and engraved in his heart that the bard wished there was a song that could do it justice.

Oikawa would have taken the littlest excuse to stay with Iwaizumi, but at the end of the day, both of them knew that he didn’t need any at all. He had left his village to get a life he would be able to enjoy to its fullest, and he had gotten one. Iwaizumi had gifted him with freedom, and Oikawa intended to use this newfound privilege just like he intended to.

There was a legend he wanted to tell the world about, the story of a man whose kindness was matched only by the trust people had in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Iwaizumi and Oikawa's arc! I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing their story ♡
> 
> See you in the comments, on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AngstWeaver) or on the next fic! ♡


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